F 

855 
.1 


BANCROFT 
LIBRARY 

•0- 

THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 


S'SL 


\ 


H;-I  AND 


(SI  h  r  i  ^  {  rn  a  o     -S  1  o  r  p 


OEOUGE    FREIXEBIO    PARSONS. 


SA<'I:A.MKNT> 


. 


Kiileri-ci  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  of  our  Lord  one  thousand  eight 
hundred  and  seventy, 

BY   GEORGE    FREDERIC    PARSONS, 

In  the  office  of  the  librarian  of  (.'Mii^re^s.  ;it    U'ushinuton. 


BANCROFT   Ui 


MIDDLE  GROUND. 


CHAPTER  I. 

"  KILL-ME-QUICK." 

On  a  certain  morning,  early  in  the  month  of  May,  in  a 
certain  year  not  necessary  to  specify,  the  sun,  rearing  his 
head  above  the  crests  of  the  "Wahsatch  Mountains,  took  a 
mildly  radiant  survey  of  the  stretch  of  hilly  country  that  lay 
to  the  westward,  and  finding  nothing  very  inviting  in  the 
barren  and  lifeless  scene,  ascended  higher,  and  cast  a  some- 
what stronger  beam  down  into  a  shallow  valley,  and  upon  a 
scattered  and  confusedly  arranged  assemblage  of  tents  and 
rough  board  shanties. 

At  that  hour,  and  viewed  by  that  pure,  bright,  yet  soft  light,  a 
stranger  might  have  been  pardoned  for  mistaking  the  innocent, 
looking  place  for  an  encampment  of  hardy  and  industrious 
Mormons,  or  equally  hardy  and  industrious  railroad  laborers; 
for  it  was  situated  in  the  Territory  of  Utah,  and  hard  by  was 
the  yet  uncompleted  line  of  the  Union  Pacific  Railroad.  But 
neither  the  necessities  of  railroad  enterprise,  nor  the  necessities 
of  Brigham  Young's  followers,  accounted  for  the  presence  in 
that  sterile  valley  of  those  tents  and  shanties  :  nor,  indeed,  is  it 
probable  that  the  stranger,  no  matter  whence  he  came,  would 
have  fallen  into  either  of  the  mistakes  hinted  at,  had  he  been 
aware  that  the  camp  was  called — Kill-me-Quick. 

The  day  was  Sunday,  and  this  fact  was  indicated  at  Kill-me- 


2  MIDDLE   GROUND. 

Quick  in  a  somewhat  peculiar  manner,  viz  :  by  the  presence  of 
certain  unmistakable  evidences  that  it  was  the  morning  after 
Saturday  night.  The  camp  was  known  far  and  wide  as  a  par- 
ticularly lively  one — indeed,  there  were  some  sanguine  spirits 
who  were  known  to  have  predicted  that  if  it  survived  it 
would  shortly  rival  Cheyenne.  On  the  morning  in  question  its 
liveliness  was  of  rather  a  drowsy  and  befuddled  kind,  but  there 
were  not  wanting  signs  that  it  had  been  true  to  itself,  and  had 
fully  maintained  its  character,  on  the  previous  evening.  From 
out  the  entrance  of  no  less  than  seven  tents  protruded  what 
looked  in  the  dim  light  of  early  morning  like  black  logs,  ar- 
ranged in  pairs,  but  which  became  revealed,  when  the  sun  rose 
higher,  as  the  pedal  extremities  of  a  corresponding  number  of 
citizens,  whose  devotion  to  the  bottle  over  night  had  incapaci- 
tated them  from  winning  their  way  further  into  the  interior  of 
their  respective  dornicils. 

But  the  early  sun  shone  on  uglier  things  than  the  fourteen 
mud-encrusted  boots  of  the  seven  oblivious  citizens  aforemen- 
tioned. In  the  center  of  the  little  alley,  which  formed  the  main 
and  only  street,  stood  a  tent  erected  over  and  enclosing  a  rude 
frame  of  lumber.  It  was  larger  and  more  ambitious  than  its 
fellows,  and  a  canvas  sign  nailed  along  its  front  informed  the 
public  that  Mr.  Richard  Bouser  was  prepared  to  dispense  liquid 
refreshments  of  everj- imaginable  description.  This  place  was 
silent  now,  and  the  canvas  curtain  that  served  for  a  door  was 
drawn  close.  But  the  thick,  pasty  mud  in  front  was  trampled 
and  stamped  as  with  furiously  struggling  feet,  and  within  a  ra- 
dius of  ten  yards  lay  three  citizens  who  would  never  again  be 
enrolled  among  the  customers  of  Mr.  Richard  Bouser.  They  all 
lay  with  their  heads  outward,  and  their  feet  pointing  towards 
the  doorway.  They  all  lay  on  their  backs,  their  faces  white, 
and  set,  and  rigid,  and  their  eyes. glaring  unwinkingly  at  the 
sun,  that  stared  down  in  return  as  though  amazed.  On  their 
soiled  and  torn  clothing,  and  their  hands  and  faces,  were  stains  ; 
and  round  about  their  bodies,  and  in  the  deep  footmarks  of  the 
trampled  space,  stood  little  pools  and  runlets  of  some  dark 
fluid  that  resembled  the  ooze  which  fills  the  hoof-prints  of  cat- 
tle at  their  drinking  places  in  marshy  ground. 


MIDDLE   GROUND.  3 

The  sun  had  not  fully  mastered  the  situation,  nor  quite  dis- 
pelled the  reluctant  gloom — wj,iich  slipped  from  shelter  to 
shelter,  hovering  behind  walls  and  lurking  in  retired  cor- 
ners, until  spied  out  and  dissipated  by  some  ray  of  light  de- 
tached for  that  purpose  from  the  main  body — when  a  tent  at 
some  distance  from  the  Bouser  establishment  was  thrown 
open,  and  two  citizens,  who  had  apparently  not  poured  exces- 
sive libations  the  previous  evening,  issued  forth.  These  two, 
after  yawning,  stretching,  and  rubbing  their  eyes,  turned,  as  by 
a  common  impulse,  towards  the  Bouser  saloon,  and  merely 
glancing  at  the  three  still  forms  in  the  roadway  as  they  passed, 
entered,  loudly  calling  for  the  host.  To  them  presently  arrived 
a  shock-headed,  black  moustached,  heavy -jowled  man,  who, 
without  further  words,  and  as  though  any  question  concerning 
their  errand  was  entirely  superfluous,  took  down  from  a  shelf 
a  bottle  and  glasses,  and  pouring  a  few  drops  of  bitters  into  the 
tumblers,  rested  his  hands  on  the  board  which  served  as  a  coun- 
ter, and  waited  until  they  had  drank.  Each  of  the  citizens 
poured  himself  a  lusty  bumper;  each  tossed  it  off  as  if  the  loss 
of  a  single  moment  might  be  fatal ;  and  each,  as  he  set  down 
his  glass,  sighed  deeply,  as  expressing  inward  satisfaction  and 
substantial  refreshment.  This  ceremony  performed,  and  the 
acolyte  rewarded,  the  taller  of  the  two  citizens,  a  brawny, 
deep-chested,  heavy-bearded  man,  addressing  the  bar-keeper, 
remarked  in  a  chatty  way: 

"  Well }  so  there  were  three  handed  in  their  checks  last  night, 
eh  ?" 

"  Guess  there  was  four,"  was  the  reply ,.  the  speaker  mean- 
while mixing  (more  carefully  than  for  his  customers)  his  morn- 
ing cocktail. 

"There's  only  three  outside,  any  way,"  struck  in  the  second 
citizen — a  wiry,  yellow,  unwholesome-looking  man,  with  a  straw- 
colored  goatee. 

"  T'other  must  ha'  crawled  into  the  sage,  then,"  said  Mr. 
Bouser ;  "  but  there  was  four  shot,  I'll  take  my  oath  !" 

"  Well,"  observed  the  tall  citizen,  after  a  pause,  "  I  s'pose 
you'll  have  the  stiffs  hauled  out  afore  breakfast  ?  It's  Sunday, 
and  more  o'  the  boys  '11  be  in  from  the  road.  They  aint  partic- 


4  MIDDLE   GROUND. 

ular,  1  know,  but,  there's  some  as  docs  object  to  seein'  so  many 
lyin'  around." 

At  this,  Mr.  Bouser's  brows  descended,  and  he  gruffly  inti- 
mated that  "  twarn't  no  business  o'  his  any  how.  Them  as  did 
the  shootin'  oughter  do  the  buryin'  !  They  was  allers  playin' 
off  onto  him  some  such  games,  and  he  warn't  agoin'  to  stand  it." 

To  this  the  wiry  man  quietly  rejoined,  that  the  u  stiffs"  were 
right  in  front  of  Mr.  Bouser's  own  door,  and  might,  perhaps, 
interfere  with  his  business.  The  force  of  this  argument  being 
acknowledged  with  a  snarl,  the  two  citizens  retired,  and  took  a 
stroll  up  the  street,  which  by  this  time  was  beginning  to  look 
more  lively. 

At  intervals  of  a  few  minutes  a  tent  door  here  and  there 
would  be  flung  apart,  and  a  citizen  would  emerge.  Some  looked 
sleepy,  some  looked  boozy,  some  looked  sulky,  some  looked 
fierce,  but  none  looked  as  though  the  light  of  the  blessed  sun 
was  welcome  to  them,  the  pure,  sweet  air  of  the  mountains  re- 
freshing, or  the  advent  of  another  day  productive  of  new  hopes 
of  any  kind.  In  the  course  of  an  hour,  Kill-me-Quick  was  pretty 
thoroughly  awake,  and  at  the  rear  of  two  or  three  larger  shan- 
ties fires  were  burning  briskly,  preparing  breakfast  for  the 
boarders — for  those  places  aspired  to  the  position  of  restau- 
rants. Some  few  citizens  went  to  the  trouble  of  washing  their 
faces  in  the  little  stream  that  flowed  below  the  camp,  but  by  far 
the  majorit}^  preferred  a  stiff  cocktail.  As  these  assembled  at 
Mr.  Richard  Bouser's  bar,  they  naturally  formed  groups,  and 
began  to  discuss  the  events  of  the  evening  before  with  much 
gusto,  individuals  occasionally  stepping  into  the  roadway  to 
illustrate,  with  abundant  gesture,  supported  by  equally  abun- 
dant oaths,  the  positions  of  the  belligerents  in  the  principal  and 
most  deadly  broil. 

The  discussions  often  waxed  warm,  and  on  one  occasion  a 
citizen  with  one  eye  (the  other  having  been  lost  in  a  slight  dif- 
ficulty) gave  the  lie  so  sharply  to  another  citizen  with  half  a 
nose,  that  the  bystanders  stepped  back  instinctively,  as  prepar- 
ing to  shun  the  shots  which  all  supposed  must  follow.  But 
whether  it  was  that  the  Bouser  cocktails  were  not  up  to  fight- 
ing pitch,  or  that  the  presence  of  the  three  recumbent  figures 


MIDDLE   GROUND. 

operated  in  some  way  as  a  deterrent,  certain  it  is  that  no  fight 
followed ;  and,  perhaps  for  similar  reasons,  the  crowd  did  not 
resent  the  disappointment  of  its  expectations.  Not  that  there 
was  any  reverence  expressed  for  the  dead.  By  no  means.  For 
instance,  when  a  citizen  of  a  suspiciously  close-cropped  and  bul- 
let-headed aspect  fell  into  a  dispute  with  a  red-bearded  and 
cross-eyed  comrade  as  to  the  number  of  shots  fired  into  one  of 
the  recumbent  figures,  the  red-bearded  one  strode  coolly  to  the 
corpse,  turned  it  over  with  his  foot,  stooped,  tore  off  the  gar- 
ments so  as  to  expose  the  wounded  side,  and  having  gained  his 
point,  let  the  body  drop  again,  not  even  troubling  himself  to 
replace  the  disturbed  clothing.  Death  had  no  terrors,  could 
claim  no  privileges,  among  the  citizens  of  Kill-me-Quick. 

For  some  time  the  discussion  proceeded,  now  waxing  warm* 
now  fading  in  interest,  until  one  individual,  whose  sense  of 
propriety  was  more  fastidious  than  his  neighbors',  remarked 
that  "  Bouser  ought  to  move  them  things" — indicating  the  three 
bodies  by  a  jerk  of  his  thumb  over  the  shoulder;  and  adding, 
that — "  the  gals  'd  be  out  putty  soon,  and  mightn't  like  it." 

The  observation  struck  a  chord  of  common  sympathy,  evi- 
dently originating  in  the  connection  of  "  them  gals  "  with  the 
subject,  and  Mr.  Bouser  being  expostulated  with  in  a  way  more 
vigorous  than  polite,  made  a  virtue  of  necessity,  and  asking 
them  to  drink  with  him,  further  begged  them  to  take  the  be- 
stowal of  the  "stiffs"  off  his  hands.  This  was  throwing  him- 
self upon  their  generosity,  in  a  manner,  and  they  at  once  agreed. 
Seeing  that  the  obsequies  of  the  deceased  consisted  merely  in 
carrying  them  by  the  head  and  heels  beyond  the  limits  of  the 
camp,  and  there  throwing  them  down  among  the  sage  brush, 
the  task  could  scarcely  be  regarded  as  an  onerous  one;  and,  as 
on  returning  Mr.  Bouser  was  compelled  to  stand  treat  again,  it 
may  be  said  to  have  been  amply  remunerated.  As  for  sanitary 
considerations  respecting  the  burial  of  the  dead,  Kill-me-Quick 
entertained  none.  Its  mission  was  accomplished,  as  its  name 
implied,  when  the  separation  of  soul  from  body  was  consum- 
mated. Beyond  that  it  had  no  ideas ;  and  as  the  citizens  of 
Kill-me-Quick  would  very  probably  be  the  citizens  of  Deadfall, 
or  Last  Chance,  or  some  other  camp,  within  a  week,  this  obliv 


6  MIDDLE    GROUND. 

iousness  to  the  laws  of  hygiene  was,  after  all,  more  apparent 
than  real. 

And  there  was  another  reason  for  this  neglect  of  the  dead. 
Kill-me-Quick  was  in  a- terrible  hurry.  It  was  always  striving 
to  get  ahead  of  Time.  Its  mission  was  to  make  money,  and 
that  by  the  quickest  possible  road  ;  and  as  the  shortest  roads 
are  in  this  regard  the  roughest  and  most  dangerous,  so  Kill-me- 
Quick  went  into  the  pursuit  of  riches,  carrying  its  life  in  its 
hand,  or,  to  speak  more  correctly,  balancing  its  life  like  that 
metaphorical  chip  on  its  shoulder,  to  be  knocked  off  or  not,  as 
the  fancy  of  the  first  fellow  ruffian  that  came  along  might  dic- 
tate. To  say  that  human  life  was  held  cheap  at  Kill-me-Quick 
would  convey  no  idea  of  the  truth.  It  was  simply  a  drug  in  the 
market.  A  day  or  two  before  the  time  of  this  history,  a  gam- 
bler named  Phil.  Batcher,  who  had  been  on  a  prolonged  spree, 
sobered  up  to  a  realization  of  the  fact  that  he  had  played  away 
all  his  money,  and  nearly  all  his  partner's,  who  happened  to  be 
absent.  On  this  discovery  he  took  what  was  left,  repaired  to 
the  scene  of  his  losses,  challenged  the  winner  to  another  game 
of  poker,  and  lost  his  last  dollar.  Then  he  threw  down  the 
cards,  rose,  and  in  a  calm  voice  requested  his  late  antagonist  to 
shoot  him.  To  this  the  other  demurred,  as  lacking  a  motive  for 
shooting.  Mr.  Batcher,  seeing  his  hesitancy,  and  divining  the 
cause,  upon  this  drew  his  pistol  and  swore  he  would  shoot  the 
other  if  the  other  refused  to  shoot  him.  This  settled  the  ques- 
tion. His  opponent  proposed  that  he  should  step  to  the  limits 
of  the  camp,  so  as  to  save  trouble,  and  this  being  done,  shot 
him  neatly  through  the  head,  he  standing  with  folded  arms  to 
receive  the  bullet.  This  affair  served  as  a  whet  to  breakfast 
next  morning,  but  long  before  noon  it  had  ceased  to  be  spoken 
of. 

Of  course  it  was  not  to  be  expected  that  Kill-me-Quick,  being 
thus  indifferent  about  its  own  life,  should  care  much  for  the  lives 
of  other  people.  .It  needed  very  little  provocation  to  produce 
pistols  and  knives,  and  the  way  in  which  the  former  were  used 
was  very  reckless.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  out  of  every  five  men 
killed,  two,  on  an  average,  were  outsiders,  who  were  unfor- 
tunate enough  to  be  in  the  neighborhood  when  a  quarrel  oc- 


MIDDLE   GROUND.  7 

curred ;  and  it  was  this  uncertainty  of  aim  which  in  a  measure 
accounted  for  the  survival  of  so  many  desperadoes  of  the  most 
truculent  kind.  For,  to  say  the  truth,  the  citizens  of  Kill-me- 
Quick  were  about  as  bad  as  bad  could  be.  Gathered  up  from 
the  foulest  dens  of  New  York,  Philadelphia,  Baltimore,  New 
Orleans,  Chicago,  and  other  centers  of  commingled  civilization 
and  barbarity,  and  plentifully  besprinkled  with  that  peculiar 
class  of  frontier  ruffians  who  have  added  all  the  ferocity  and 
cunning  of  the  Indian  to  all  the  worst  vices  of  the  lowest 
classes  of  white  men;  assembled  there,  on  the  westernmost 
point  of  the  advancing  Pacific  Railroad,  for  no  other  objects 
than  robbery,  swindling  and  plunder;  inured  to  crime — the 
blackest  and  most  infamous  conceivable  ;  as  ready  to  cut  each 
other's  throats  as  the  throats  of  the  unwary  travelers  who 
might  fall  into  their  hands;  gamblers,  thieves,  murderers,  es- 
caped convicts,  cattle  stoalers,  forgers,  it  would  have  been  per- 
haps impossible  to  find,  on  all  the  continent  of  America,  an  as- 
semblage of  human  beings  more  uniformly,  desperately,  irre- 
claimably  wicked  than  the  citizens  of  Kill-me-Quick. 

And  yet  they  were  mostly  deserving  of  study,  too,  for  they 
in  a  measure  held  high  degrees  in  crime.  Scarce  one  among 
them  but  possessed  a  history  of  no  mean  interest.  Scarce  one 
but  had  passed  some  thrilling  scenes,  some  hair-breadth  es- 
capes. I  do  not  say  that  they  were  a  better  class  than  the  sneak 
thief  or  the  pick  pocket  of  city  life  belong  to,  but  they  were 
certainly  a  different  class.  Any  one  of  them  would  have  killed 
a  man  for  a  fancied  insult,  or  to  obtain  a  few  ounces  of  gold,  or 
for  mere  pique.  And  any  one  of  them  would  have  flung  his 
last  dollar  to  a  starving  wretch,  if  the  whim  took  him.  It  was 
light  come,  light  go,  no  doubt.  Little  enough  of  true  generos- 
ity, or  indeed  of  any  sentiment  at  all,  among  them.  A  set  of 
men  who  never  enjoyed  themselves;  whose  revels  were  ferocious 
and  terrifying,  and  never  genial  and  festive  ;  who  could  not  ut- 
ter a  ringing,  happy  laugh,  but  when  their  dull  sense  of  humor 
was  touched  gave  vent  to  a  sound  that  was  more  like  a  yell 
than  a  laugh — more  indicative  of  pain  than  pleasure.  They 
were  men  whose  speech  was  habitually  awfully  profane ;  who 
never  exhibited  any  originality  save  in  coining  new  oaths;  who 


8  MIDDLE    GROUND. 

were  accustomed  to  employ  the  most  terrific  adjurations  in  their 
ordinary  conversation,  just  as  they  employed  the  most  deadly 
weapons  in  their  ordinary  business,  and  who  seemed  to  be  quite 
unconscious  of  any  peculiarity  in  either  respect. 

Such  were  the  male  citizens  of  Kill-rne-Quick,  in  so  far  as 
the  traits  held  in  common  extended.  Each  one  among  them,  of 
course,  differed  from  his  fellow  in  his  inner  life,  and  in  the  turn 
of  his  character,  but  these  peculiarities  were  typical  of  the  class. 
Such  were  the  male  citizens.  What  were  the  females  like  ?  In 
such  a  place,  what  could  they  be  ?  Ah,  you  who  reverence  pure 
womanhood,  who  recognize  in  it  the  type  and  the  full  expression 
of  the  Divinity,  after  the  likeness  of  which  mankind  was  formed, 
turn  your  sad  eyes  away  from  these  fallen  Daughters  of  Light; 
believe,  if  you  will,  that  the  picture  is  exaggerated  and  untrue, 
rather  than  surrender  your  ideal  or  lose  your  ennobling  faith. 
Kot  wholly  void  as  yet  of  outward  grace  of  form  or  figure  ; 
not  wholly  lacking,  yet,  in  the  witchery  of  feminine  ways;  not 
quite  gone,  yet,  the  power  of  the  flashing  eyes.  But  for  all 
these,  and  more  than  ever  because  of  these  remnants  of  the 
past — differing  from,  separated  from,  other  than,  all  women 
else. 

Women  who  fall,  fall  farther  than,  and  yet  not  so  hopeless- 
ly as,  men.  There  are  men  so  saturated  \vith  evil,  that  could 
you  peel  them  as  one  peels  an  onion,  the  last  innermost  layer 
would  be  reached  and  thrown  away  without  discovering  one 
single  grain  of  good.  There  are  no  such  women.  The  woman 
who  falls  presents  a  more  callous  exterior,  is  outwardly  harder, 
plunges  more  desperately  and  recklessly  into  fresh  crimes,  pur- 
sues her  downward  path  with  a  more  entire  abandon,  and  a 
more  ostentatious  rejection  of  every  proffer  of  rescue.  But  for 
ail  this  there  burns  longer  and  warmer  in  her  heart  the  spark 
of  love  lit  up  in  the  beginning;  and  pile  the  ashes  mountains 
high  upon  that  spark,  it  remains  unquenched  and  unquenchable. 

Kill-me-Quick  was  a  desperately  wicked  place,  if  a  second 
Abraham  had  renewed  for  its  people  the  plea  which  failed  when 
put  up  for  the  Cities  of  the  Plain,  I  fear  the  same  rule  would 
have  excluded  hope.  But  if  by  any  chance  enough  of  goodness 
had  been  found  to  fulfil  the  condition,  I  know  full  well  that  in 


MIDDLE   GROUND.  9 

the  breast  of  one  of  these  outcasts  that  remnant  of  purity  could 
alone  have  been  discovered.  Not  goodness  such  as  the  world 
would  acknowledge,  perhaps ;  not  goodness  such  as  would  be 
regarded  sufficient  for  salvation  by  Society ;  but  yet  so  much  of 
purity  and  heaven-born  tenderness  as  exists  in  a  love  stronger 
than  cruelty,  stronger  than  outrage,  stronger  than  shame, 
stronger  than  death  itself.  Such  virtue  as  lives  in  a  love  so  self- 
forgetful  as  to  cling,  with  the  grasp  of  a  despairing  soul,  around 
the  image  of  the  unworthy  wretch  who  betrays  the  heart  that 
trusts  him. 

No  thoughts  of  this  kind,  however,  disturbed  the  serenity  of 
the  traveler  who,  about  noon  on  the  Sunday  in  question,  rode 
into  the  main  street  of  Kill-me-Quick,  and  dismounted  in  front 
of  the  tent  where  Mr.  Richard  Bouser  was  by  this  time  dispens- 
ing liquid  refreshments  at  a  lively  rate,  not  only  to  the  crowd 
that  hummed  and  buzzed  in  and  out  of  the  doorway,  like  truc- 
ulent blue  bottles,  but  to  the  crowd  that,  divided  into  knots, 
was  deeply  absorbed  in  the  delights  of  poker  and  seven-up,  at 
the  rear  of  the  establishment. 

The  new  arrival  was  in  more  respects  than  one  worth  look- 
ing at.  In  the  first  place,  he  looked  so  much  more  like  an  hon- 
est man  than  any  of  the  usual  frequenters  of  the  camp ;  in  the 
second  place,  he  was  much  more  comely  than  the  average  of 
the  citizens  of  Kill-me-Quick — the  most  of  whom,  in  addition  to 
the  trade  marks  which  Dame  Nature  sets  upon  her  inferior  pro- 
ductions, carried  about  them  such  mementos  of  brawls  and 
affrays  as  imparted  an  additionally  sinister  aspect  to  their  coun- 
tenances. The  stranger  was  apparently  thirty  years  of  age,  of 
medium  night,  broad  shoulders,  and  powerfully  built,  possess- 
ing an  open  and  cheerful  face,  lighted  by  two  dark  blue  eyes. 
and  finished  off  by  a  luxuriant  brown  beard.  He  was  clothed 
plainly  in  a  suit  of  coarse  homespun,  and  wore  long,  travel- 
stained  boots.  As  he  sprang  from  the  saddle  and  threw  the 
reins  on  the  neck  of  his  Indian  pony — a  rough  but  serviceable 
little  beast — he  encountered  a  sharp  scrutiny  from  a  dozen  pair 
of  eyes,  belonging  to  as  many  citizens,  who  were  lounging  about 
the  saloon.  Kill-me-Quick  was  always  very  prompt  in  deciding 
the  status  of  new  comers,  and  in  determining  the  line  of  con- 


10  MIDDLE    GROUND. 

duct  to  be  adopted  concerning  them.  In  the  present  instance, 
Kill-me-Quick  summed  up  the  stranger  about  as  follows:  u  A 
green  hand.  Probably  a  Mormon  elder.  May  have  greenbacks. 
Our  meat."  And  having  thus  concluded,  a  deputation  was,  by 
pantomime  and  exchange  of  rapid  glances  rather  than  by  words, 
appointed  to  wait  upon  the  new  arrival. 

The  stranger,  whom  for  the  present  we  will  designate  ac- 
cording to  the  conclusions  of  Kill-me-Quick,  as  the  Green  Hand, 
strode  into  the  saloon,  flinging  a  general  "  good  day,  boys !"  to 
right  and  left  as  he  entered.  Approaching  the  counter,  he 
called  for  a  drink,  and  as  at  this  moment  two  citizens,  detach- 
ing themselves  from  the  crowd,  advanced  a  step  or  two  and  di- 
rected an  inquiring  look  at  him,  he  invited  them  to  join  him. 

The  two  citizens  thus  invited  were  the  two  who  have  been 
already  introduced  while  taking  their  morning  cocktail.  The 
taller  was  named  Jack  Belto,  commonly  called  "Slaughter- 
house Jack,"  from  a  way  he  had  of  felling  his  opponents.  The 
wiry,  yellow-faced  man,  was  Amasa  Cobbins,  alias  "  Knifey," 
so  called  from  his  preference  for  the  invention  of  Colonel  Bowie 
over  the  invention  of  Colonel  Colt. 

Cheerfully  accepting  the  invitation  of  the  Green  Hand,  these 
gentlemen  stepped  forward,  and  filling  their  glasses,  drained  them 
to  the  brief  but  expressive  toast,  "  here's  luck." 

Naturally  a  conversation  followed,  in  the  course  of  which 
they  learned  that  the  Green  Hand  (who  must  have  been  very 
green,  judging  from  the  openness  with  which  he  discussed  his 
affairs)  was  a  Mormon  trader  from  Salt  Lake  City,  on  his  way 
to  California  to  make  purchases  for  his  store.  He  was  so  frank 
and  guileless  that  his  new  companions  found  no  difficulty  in 
ascertaining  that  he  carried  with  him  a  considerable  sum  of  mo- 
ney, but  perhaps  this  absence  of  suspicion  was  caused  by  the 
belief  he  seemed  to  entertain  that  Kill-me-Quick  was  a  construc- 
tion camp  belonging  to  the  railroad.  Messrs.  Belto  and  Cob- 
bins  took  care  not  to  undeceive  him  in  this  respect,  and  pres- 
ently proposed  that  he  should  take  a  stroll,  after  watering  his 
horse,  as  he  would  have  plenty  of  time  to  reach  the  advance 
camp  of  the  Central  Pacific  Kailroad  before  dark.  Nothing  loth, 
he  assented,  arid  the  three  stepped  into  the  street. 


MIDDLE    GROUND.  11 

By  this  time  Kill-me-Quick  was  wide  awake,  and  attending 
to  its  interests.  Many  railroad  men  were  already  in  camp,  and 
more  were  dropping  in,  by  twos  and  threes.  Pretty  hard  cus- 
tomers, generally,  were  these  same  railroad  men  ;  men  who  had 
been  scraped  up  hero  and  there  along  the  line  of  the  road,  as  it 
progressed  westward,  and  many  of  whom  had  good  reasons  for 
desiring  to  be  beyond  the  reach  of  civilization  for  a  time.  It  is 
unnecessary  to  state  that  the  terrors  of  the  law  fell  far  short  of 
the  region  in  which  Kill-me-Quick  was  situated,  and  that  Police 
Courts  and  Sheriffs  were  unknown  there.  Every  man  was  a 
law  to  himself,  and  as  the  only  law  recognized  was  that  of  self- 
interest,  the  result  was,  as  has  been  shown,  peculiar.  The  chief 
business  of  Kill-me-Quick  was  gambling,  and  this  business  was 
pursued  fiercely.  Faro,  monte,  poker,  seven-up,  and  a  dozen 
other  games,  were  in  full  blast,  in  as  many  tents  and  shanties, 
as  the  Green  Hand  and  his  escort  strolled  through  the  camp. 
Some  few  men  were  washing  a  shirt  or  so  in  the  brook ;  others 
were  cleaning  and  reloading  their  weapons.  At  the  door  of  a 
tent  which  stood  a  little  apart  from  the  rest,  two  girls  were 
seated.  They  were  gaudily,  though  not  richly  dressed.  Their 
eyes  were  bright,  though  not  with  health.  Their  cheeks  were 
wan  and  hollow,  but  their  looks  were  hard  and  brazen,  and  de- 
fiant and  reckless.  They  stared  at  the  Green  Hand  as  he 
passed,  and  seemed  about  to  address  him,  but  a  motion  of  the 
hand  from  Belto  checked  them,  and  after  whispering  together 
they  laughed  loudly  and  re-entered  the  tent. 

The  trio  sauntered  through  the  camp,  and  back  to  the  saloon, 
the  Green  Hand  all  the  time  talking  freely,  and  his  companions 
doing  their  best  to  adapt  themselves  to  his  mood.  Another 
drink  was  taken,  and  then  Cobbins,  after  a  glance  at  his  com- 
rade, proposed  a  game  of  cards  to  pass  the  time  until  dinner 
was  ready.  The  stranger,  however,  did  not  care  to  play  just 
then — would  rather  talk,  in  fact — so  without  pressing  him  fur- 
ther, the  two  indulged  his  humor,  and  chatted  away  pleasantly 
until  the  homely  meal — for  Kill-me-Quick  was  not  great  in  the 
commissariat  department — was  ready.  Then  all  three  sat 
down,  and  presently  the  Green  Hand,  consulting  an  old-fash- 
ioned silver  watch,  announced  his  determination  to  proceed  on 
his  journey. 


12  MIDDLE    GROUND. 

On  hearing  this  Cobbins  stepped  for  a  moment  behind  him 
and  telegraphed  something  to  Belto,  who  responded  by  a  cau- 
tious wink.  A  final  drink  was  then  proposed,  and  the  three 
stepped  up  to  the  bar.  Somehow  or  other  Mr.  Richard  Bouser 
was  rather  longer  than  usual  in  preparing  the  cocktails,  but  at 
last  they  were  set  down.  The  two  citizens  seized  their  glasses 
and  hastily  raised  them  to  their  lips,  at  the  same  time  wishing 
their  friend  a  pleasant  journey.  He  was  about  to  follow  their 
example,  but  suddenly  lowered  his  hand,  and  uttering  an  ex- 
clamation of  disgust,  threw  his  cocktail  on  the  ground.  A 
glance  passed  between  the  confederates,  and  Belto  asked  what 
was  the  matter. 

"  There  was  a  fly  in  the  liquor/'  said  the  Green  Hand,  "  and 
I  never  can  stand  them  things." 

"  Mix  another  cocktail,  Dick/'  said  Cobbins,  and  see  that 
there's  no  flies  in  it  this  time." 

"  But  the  stranger  interrupted,  saying,  "  Oh,  never  mind  ! 
I'll  take  mine  straight  rather  than  keep  you  waiting ;"  and  did 
so.  Whereupon  Belto  and  Cobbins  looked  at  each  other  again, 
and  this  time  as  though  they  had  been  baffled  in  something. 
But  the  next  moment  their  faces  brightened  on  hearing  the 
stranger  exclaim  : 

u  Well,  boys,  I  havn't  had  a  game  of  cards  for  a  long  while, 
and  though  'taint  the  thing  for  an  elder,  and  on  a  Sunday,  I 
guess  I'll  run  the  risk  of  sinning  for  once,  and  play  you  for  the 
drinks." 

So  the  matter  was  arranged,  and  Belto,  Cobbins  and  the  Green 
Hand  sat  down  to  play  at  a  table  improvised  out  of  a  flour  bar- 
rel, in  the  back  of  a  tent. 

There  never  were  three  players  whose  luck  and  skill  seemed 
more  equally  matched.  The  game  was  old  sledge,  and  it  was 
pleasant  to  note  how  each  in  turn  won,  and  how  cheerful  and 
amiable  the  two  representatives  of  Kill-me-Quick  were.  It  was 
evident  that  they  were  impressed  with  the  responsibility  of 
their  position,  as  hosts,  and  that  all  they  desired  was  to  give  the 
stranger  a  favorable  opinion  of  the  camp.  For  an  hour  or  oo 
they  played  on  innocently  and  quietly,  the  only  noticeable  fact 
during  this  period  being  that  the  Green  Hand  declined  to  take 


MIDDLE   GROUND.  13 

the  chances  of  any  more  flies  in  his  liquor,  and  insisted  on  filling 
a  bottle  for  himself  from  the  whisky  barrel,  ''just  for  the  fun  of 
the  thing,"  as  he  remarked.  But  presently  Mr.  Belto  began  to 
yawn  and  stretch  himself,  and  on  being  interrogated  as  to  the 
cause  of  his  apparent  weariness,  replied  that  he  was  tired  of 
u  this  no  'count  kind  o'  play.  There  warnt  'nuff  interest  'bout 
the  thing  to  suit  Aim,  nohow." 

Mr.  Cobbins,  upon  this,  suggested  that  they  should  play 
poker  for  small  money  stakes,  and  the  stranger  readily  assent- 
ing, Mr.  Belto  recovered  his  interest  and  the  game  proceeded. 

The  Green  Hand  was  unquestionably  a  good  player,  but  he 
was  no  less  unquestionably  an  unsuspicious  player.  His  part- 
ners had  made  several  little  quiet  experiments  during  the  first 
hour,  and  the  result  was  a  beaming  conviction  that  their  task 
would  be  an  easy  one,  and  that  all  that  was  necessary  was 
caution  and  moderation. 

So  the  game  went  on  all  the  afternoon,  and  when  the  men 
rose  at  dark  to  get  their  supper  and  stretch  their  legs,  the 
Green  Hand  was  a  hundred  dollars  or  so  ahead,  and  things  had 
become  so  interesting  that  there  was  no  danger  of  his  desiring 
to  quit  play.  They  had  their  supper,  and  a  smoke,  and  then  re- 
tired as  before  to  the  rear  of  the  tent,  the  Green  Hand  having 
previously  looked  after  his  horse  and  tied  him  in  a  secure  place. 
It  was  tolerably  clear  that  he  would  not  proceed  on  his  journey 
that  night.  Perhaps  Kill-me-Quick  may  have  doubted  whether 
his  journey's  end  was  not  almost  reached  already. 

And  the  game  went  on.  Gradually  the  stakes  were  raised, 
and  gradually  the  run  of  luck  began  to  desert  the  Green  Hand, 
and  to  hover  between  Messrs.  Belto  and  Cobbins.  Kill-me- 
Quick,  as  the  evening  wore  on,  seemed  to  become  much  inter- 
ested in  the  play,  and  quite  a  crowd  collected  about  the  trio? 
some  lounging  against  the  sides  of  the  shanty,  some  standing 
with  their  hands  in  their  pockets,  pondering  the  cards,  others 
smoking  or  chewing ',  and  yet  others  flitting  restlessly  about, 
hovering  first  over  one  player  and  then  another,  and  advancing 
and  retreating  softly,  as  though  performing  some  peculiar  kind 
of  dance.  Mr.  Bouser  had  done  honor  to  the  occasion  (for  the 
report  had  gone  round  that  Belto  and  Cobbins  had  a  big  thing 


14  MIDDLE   GROUND. 

on  hand)  by  lighting  a  coal-oil  lamp,  which  was  swung  from 
the  canvas  roof  by  a  cord.  It  was  the  only  coal-oil  lamp  in  the 
place,  and  he  was  consequently  not  a  little  proud  of  it. 

So  the  game  went  on.  The  stranger  appeared  to  be  per- 
fectly self-possessed,  never  rated  his  luck,  never  insinuated  any- 
thing about  his  opponents'  play,  never  got  flushed  or  flurried, 
and  never  noticed  the  crowding  of  the  interested  citizens  about 
him.  He  always  responded  promptly  to  any  challenge,  and  bet 
not  only  freely  but  wildly.  By  half-past  eight  o'clock  he  had 
lost  five  hundred  dollars.  At  ten  he  was  a  thousand  dollars 
poorer.  Belto  and  Cobbins  were  beginning  to  lose  their  heads 
with  the  consciousness  of  victory,  and  more  than  once  cheated 
so'  openly  and  clumsily  that  the  stranger  could  hardly  have 
failed  to  detect  them,  had  he  not  been  so  very  green.  The  by- 
standers from  time  to  time  retired  to  compare  opinions  and  re- 
fresh themselves,  and  the  whispered  comments  were  by  no 
means  flattering  to  the  intellectual  powers  of  the  Green  Hand. 
So  the  game  went  on.  The  Green  Hand  was  now  losing 
"  every  pop,"  as  Mr.  Bouser  phrased  it,  but  bore  his  losses  with 
equanimity.  At  last,  however,  while  Mr.  Cobbins  was  dealing 
a  fresh  pack,  he  rose,  turned  the  box  he  was  seated  on,  gravely 
explained  "  for  luck,"  and  re-seated  himself.  This  gamblers' 
superstition  was  so  well  known  and  so  common,  that  the  act 
would  have  excited  no  remark  from  any  one  there,  but  for  this 
fact — that  immediately  thereafter  the  luck  did  begin  to  change. 
It  was  not  that  the  stranger  altered  his  style  of  play,  but  that 
somehow,  although  his  opponents  tried  all  their  tricks,  his  cards 
would  come  out  best.  The  fact  began  to  dawn  upon  them  after 
a  few  minutes  that  the  Green  Hand  was  actually  cheating 
them.  Amazing  and  incomprehensible  as  it  might  be,  yet  so  it 
was.  Of  that  there  could  be  no  question,  and  for  this  reason, 
that  no  man  who  played  fairly  could  win  from  Messrs.  Belto 
and  Cobbins.  They  employed  freely  all  the  customary  frauds. 
They  had  the  deck  in  the  breast,  and  the  deck  in  the  sleeve,  and 
the  cards  were  marked,  and  Belto  had  a  large  hand — and,  in 
short,  a  fair  and  square  player  had  simply  no  chance  at  all  with 
them. 

But  the  game  went  on.     And  if  Belto  and  Cobbins  were 


MIDDLE   GROUND.  15 

amazed  at  .the  change  in  their  luck,  the  citizens  of  Kill-me- 
Quick  were  more  than  amazed ;  they  were  thunderstruck.  It 
is  true  that  none  of  them  entertained  serious  doubts  of  the  final 
issue,  knowing  that  the  game  could  be  terminated  at  any  mo- 
ment by  getting  up  a  row  and  shooting  the  stranger.  But  there 
was  a  curious  kind  of  artistic  feeling  about  the  affair.  They 
had  pitted  their  most  expert  swindlers  against  this  fellow,  and 
he  was  beating  them  at  their  own  game.  To  kill  him  would 
settle  the  question  of  the  ownership  of  the  money,  but  it  would 
leave  unsettled  the  other  question  of  which  was  the  best  and 
most  skillful  cheater  ;  and  this  was  of  some  importance.  Kill- 
me-Quick,  thus  thinking,  and  watching  the  game  without  being 
able  to  detect  the  stranger's  mode  of  working,  became  nervous 
and  irritable,  and  a  few  of  the  more  impatient  spirits,  unable 
longer  to  control  their  mortification,  went  outside,  got  up  a 
a  fight,  and  carved  a  railroad  contractor,  whose  ill  luck  had 
brought  him  into  the  neighborhood,  into  small  pieces. 

in  the  meantime,  the  game  went  on.  At  one  A.  M.  the 
Green  Hand  had  not  only  won  back  his  money,  but  had  secured 
six  hundred  dollars  of  his  opponents'  funds.  At  this  time  the 
latter  exchanged  glances,  and  each  saw  that  the  other  had  de- 
termined to  end  the  matter  speedily.  They  went  on  playing? 
however,  awaiting  a  favorable  opportunity,  and  at  half-past  one 
o'clock  the  stranger  had  raked  in  one  thousand  dollars  in  green- 
backs, and  continued  to  produce  the  most  astonishing  hands. 
Just  at  this  time  another  fight  occurred  outside,  and  the  crowd 
rushed  out  to  witness  or  take  part  in  it,  as  fancy  might  suggest. 
A  bet  had  been  made,  called  and  doubled,  and  Belto  threw 
down  four  aces. 

The  stranger  quietly  produced  five  aces. 

Both  partners  dropped  their  cards,  and  gazed  open-mouthed 
at  the  audacity  of  this  proceeding,  and  then  Belto,  with  an  air 
of  virtuous  indignation,  observed  : 

u  Stranger,  I  reckon  you  take  us  for  suckers  ?" 

"  Guess  not !"  was  the  cool  reply.  u  Guess  I  take  you  for 
card  sharps." 

It  was  apparent  that  the  crisis  had  come. 


16  MIDDLE    GROUND. 

Cobbins  rose.  "  Stranger,"  he  observed,  at  the  same  time 

reaching  to  grasp  the  money  on  the  table,  "  You're  a 

swindler." 

In  an  instant,  before  the  words  were  out  of  his  mouth — be- 
fore his  hand  was  within  six  inches  of  the  money — it  was 
whipped  from  the  table  by  the  Green  Hand,  who  at  the  same 
moment  sprang  to  his.  feet.  Belto's  hand  was  already  on  his 
pistol,  and  Cobbins'  knife  was  half  out  of  its  sheath,  when  a 
quick  gleam  of  steel  flashed  in  the  air  above  them,  the  lamp 
fell  crashing  between  them  and  their  intended  victim ;  there 
was  an  explosion,  and  a  sheet  of  flame  leaped  up  in  their  faces 
and  drove  them  back.  Belto  fired  his  pistol  at  random,  and 
Cobbins,  dazzled  for  the  moment,  made  a  dash  for  the  door  to 
intercept  the  stranger.  The  burning  oil  rapidly  fired  the  rough 
boards  and  canvas  of  the  tent,  and  all  was  confusion,  cursing, 
shouting,  smoke  and  glare.  The  crowd  rushed  back  from 
the  street  to  find  Mr.  Bouser's  establishment  burning  furiously, 
and  Belto  and  Cobbins  raging  like  fiends  about  the  doorway. 
But  the  Green  hand  had  availed  himself  of  that  moment  of  sur- 
prise and  confusion  caused  by  the  fall  of  the  lamp,  and  before 
his  enemies  could  satisfy  themselves  that  he  had  escaped  from 
the  tent,  he  had  mounted,  and  was  riding  furiously  over  the 
hills.  The  instant  his  escape  was  discovered,  a  dozen  men 
threw  themselves  on  horseback  and  started  in  pursuit.  For 
half  an  hour  dropping  rifle  and  pistol  shots  were  heard,  and 
then  the  baffled  pursuers  rode  slowly  back,  while  on  a  distant 
eminence  a  man  stood,  holding  his  horse's  bridle  over  his  arm, 
and  smilingly  surveying  a  blaze  that  made  the  dark  sky  lurid 
above  the  valley,  and  betokened  the  destruction  of  the  lively 
camp  of  Kill-me-Quick. 


CHAPTER    II. 

ON   THE   DOWN   GRADE. 

It  is  to  be  regretted,  on  ethical  grounds,  that  the  fire  which 
speedily  consumed  the  tents  and  shanties  of  Kill-me-Quick  did 
not  involve  the  people  of  the  place;  but  as  such  an  event  would 


MIDDLE    GROUND.  17 

have  rendered  the  continuation  of  this  history  impossible,  per- 
haps all  was  for  the  best.  Messrs.  Belto  and  Cobbins  were  last 
seen  raging  and  foaming  over  the  escape  of  their  victim  (who 
by  common  consent  ceased  from  that  time  to  be  alluded  to  as 
the  Green  Hand,  and  was  thereafter  designated  as  "  that  durn' 
skunk  ").  These  gentlemen  were  very  angry,  not  only  with  the 
fugitive,  who  had  got  away  with  their  funds,  but  with  them- 
selves, each  other,  and  all  Kill-me-Quick.  After  the  fire  had 
burned  out,  which  was  not  until  the  last  combustible*  thing 
within  its  scope  was  consumed,  the  people  ot  the  late  camp  of 
Kill-me-Quick  gathered  morosely  about  the  embers,  and  ar- 
ranged their  plans  for  the  future.  The  burning  of  the  tents 
did  not  trouble  them  much,  as  they  possessed  little  destructible 
property,  Bouser  being  perhaps  the  only  one  who  sustained  any- 
thing like  a  serious  loss.  So,  after  cursing  the  "durn'  skunk" 
to  their  heart's  content,  and  making  parties  to  go  this  way  and 
that  on  the  morrow,  to  try  their  fortune  anew  at  Dead  Fall,  or 
Corinne,  or  some  other  new  place  on  the  line  of  the  railroad, 
the  choicer  spirits  turned  their  attention  to  chaffing  Belto  and 
Cobbins,  who,  being  very  sore  and  mortified,  were  in  a  fit  state  to 
be  baited.  The  badinage  indulged  in  was  of  a  kind  not  to  be  con- 
veyed by  any  recognized  words  in  the  English  language,  and  it 
would  therefore  be  impossible  to  reproduce  even  a  specimen  of 
the  conversation  that  ensued.  It  was,  however,  intended  to 
convey  that  the  community  regarded  the  conduct  of  Messrs. 
Belto  and  Cobbins  most  unfavorably;  that  they  had  lost  caste 
with  their  friends  ;  that  they  need  never  again  set  themselves 
up  as  gamblers  and  murderers  of  talent  and  parts;  that  they 
had  brought  shame  and  humiliation  upon  Kill-me-Quick,  and 
had  abused  the  confidence  heretofore  reposed  in  them. 

The  partners  having  borne  these  reproaches  for  some  time 
with  a  kind  of  professional  stoicism,  though  inwardly  chafing, 
at  length  came  to  the  conclusion  that  it  was  time  to  put  an  end 
to  it,  and  proceeded  to  wind  up  the  business  characteristically. 
They  were  at  the  moment  in  the  center  of  a  circle,  the  mem- 
bers composing  which  were  all  equally  guilty  of  chaffing  them. 
There  being  therefore  no  room  for  choice,  Mr.  Belto,  raising  his 
voice,  though  without  passion,  expressed  an  opinion  that  the 


18  MIDDLE   GROUND. 

whole  gathering  were  closely  allied  to  the  canine  race,  and  des- 
tined to  eternal  punishment.  Having  uttered  this  sentiment, 
he  quickly  drew  his  revolver,  singled  out  his  man,  and  shot  him 
in  his  tracks,  while  at  the  same  moment  Mr.  Cobbins  made 
effective  play  with  his  knife.  The  crowd  instinctively  fell  back 
when  the  firing  commenced,  and  the  two  partners  at  once  broke 
out  of  the  circle  and  ran  for  their  horses.  In  another  minute 
the  majority  had  recovered  from  their  confusion  and  followed 
them,  keeping  up  a  rapid  but  ineffectual  fusillade.  The  fugi- 
tives gained  the  saddle,  and  knowing  the  country  something 
better  than  their  pursuers,  succeeded  in  getting  away,  while  the 
latter  returned  to  discuss  this  last  incident,  and  finally  rolled 
themselves  in  their  blankets  and  went  to  sleep  with  a  general 
impression  that  the  evening  had  turned  out  pretty  lively, 
after  all. 

In  the  meantime,  the  fugitives  were  discussing  the  future  as 
they  rode,  and  having  concluded  that  there  was  not  much  in 
the  prospect  westward,  unless  they  went  on  to  California  (for 
which  they  were  not  yet  prepared),  determined  to  go  back  on 
the  line  of  the  railroad  as  far  as  Echo,  and  '•  make  a  raise"  there 
among  the  railroad  laborers.  As,  however,  these  laborers  were 
all  armed,  and  accustomed  to  use  their  weapons  on  slight  prov- 
ocation, it  was  deemed  prudent  to  guard  against  accidents,  and 
to  that  end  it  was  arranged  that  Mr.  Cobbins  should  go  on  to 
Echo  first,  and  on  his  arrival  should  make  it  his  business  to 
gamble  with  the  "boys"  for  their  pistols,  by  securing  which, 
possibly  unpleasant  consequences  might  be  averted.  The  fact 
that  the  railroad  hands  had  not  been  paid  for  some  weeks,  and 
were  expecting  money  every  day,  favored  this  programme,  hav- 
ing settled  which,  the  partners  divided  the  funds  in  hand  and 
separated,  Belto  agreeing  to  follow  on  the  second  day,  when  the 
way  would  be  prepared  for  their  joint  operations. 

On  the  second  day  after  these  events,  Mr.  Cobbins  alighted 
from  a  construction  train  on  which  he  had  secured  a  passage, 
and  walked  into  the  town  of  Echo,  or  Echo  City,  as  it  was 
christened,  in  accordance  with  the  prevailing  custom  to  call 
everything  a  city  consisting  of  more  than  three  buildings,  be. 
longing  to  more  than  two  persons. 


MIDDLE   GROUND.  19 

Echo  City,  at  the  period  of  our  history,  consisted  of  about 
fifty  buildings,  of  wood,  of  wood  and  canvas,  and  of  canvas 
alone.  The  permanent  residents  (the  place  was  fully  two 
months  old)  were  all  storekeepers  and  whisky  dealers.  The 
floating  population  consisted  of  railroad  hands  and  gamblers, 
with  a  sprinkling  of  passengers.  Situated  at  the  base  of  a  huge 
cliff,  that  towered  some  two  hundred  feet  into  the  air  above  it, 
the  dimensions  of  Echo  City,  never  very  imposing,  were  dwarfed 
still  more  by  the  contrast  of  its  surroundings;  and  the  traveler 
coming  suddenly  on  the  place  was  apt  to  imagine  for  a  moment 
that  the  buildings  were  merely  doll-houses,  and  not  real  dwell- 
ings and  stores.  There  were,  even  at  this  early  stage  of  the 
city's  existence,  two  hotels,  which  had  already  established  a 
smart  rivalry.  To  say  truth,  there  was  not  very  much  to  choose 
between  them,  both  being  equally  bad  and  equally  dear.  The 
accommodations  were  somewhat  meager,  being  limited  in  the 
Walker  House  to  an  airy  but  low-roofed  loft,  immediately  over 
the  bar-room,  and  in  the  Echo  Hotel  to  the  interior  of  a  barn 
which  also  served  as  a  harness  and  lumber  room,  and  was  not 
wholly  free  from  a  suspicion  of  rats.  The  Walker  House  was 
perhaps  most  liberally  patronized,  for  the  reason  that  it  pos- 
sessed a  billiard  saloon ;  but  as  neither  this  nor  the  bar  were 
ever  closed,  and  as  both  apartments  were  filled  day  and  night 
with  a  free-and-easy  crowd,  who  alternated  drinking  and  bil- 
liards with  cursing  and  fighting;  and  as  the  planks  which 
formed  the  floor  of  the  loft  and  the  bed  of  the  lodgers  were  too 
thin  to  stop  bullets,  the  attempt  to  seek  rest  in  that  quarter  was 
open  to  the  charge  of  being  a  pursuit  of  sleep  under  difficulties. 

Mr.  Walker,  the  proprietor  of  the  house,  was  a  little  man, 
with  a  dry,  thick  head  of  sandy  hair,  which  stood  stiffly  up,  and 
which  seemed  to  express  the  perpetual  surprise  its  owner  felt  at 
being  where  he  was.  Mr.  Walker  was  always  in  a  hurry, 
though  he  never  did  anything.  He  knew  nothing  of  the  re- 
sources of  his  establishment,  and  was  completely  controlled  by 
a  keen,  dark-whiskered  man  who  acted  as  his  clerk,  and  who 
divided  his  time  between  registering  the  names  of  the  guests, 
and  making  calculations  as  to  the  extreme  possible  limit  their 
bills  could  be  stretched  to. 


20  m  MIDDLE  GROUND. 

The  guests  of  the  Walker  House  were  mostly  of  that  class 
who  carry  their  own  blankets  with  them,  and  whose  night 
toilet  is  made  by  pulling  off  their  boots,  which  then  do  duty  as 
a  pillow.  There  were  a  good  many  oily  and  grimy  firemen, 
who  wiped  their  faces  with  bunches  of  cotton  waste ;  grave 
looking  but  rough  spoken  engineers,  who  had  acquired  an  ex- 
pression of  power  and  responsibility  through  their  long  wrest- 
lings with  the  Spirit  of  Steam ;  hardy,  foul-mouthed,  ruffianly 
railroad  hands;  equally  hardy,  less  foul-mouthed  and  more 
decent  mechanics,  carpenters,  bridge  builders,  blacksmiths,  track 
layers,  and  a  dozen  other  varieties  of  the  genus  railroad  man. 
All  these  and  such  as  these,  besprinkled  with  a  dozen  or  two  of 
sharpers  and  moral  agriculturists,  kept  Echo.  City  lively  enough, 
and  occasionally  the  scene  was  varied  by  the  appearance  of  a 
score  of  passengers,  who  gazed  wildly  about  them,  ordered 
drinks  at  the  bar  hurriedly,  drank  them  hesitatingly,  and  pay- 
ing for  them  reluctantly,  walked  off  shudderingly,  wiping  their 
lips  doubtingly,  as  though  half  expecting  that  the  fiery  stuff 
would  burn  holes  in  the  fabric. 

The  stores  at  Echo  were  not  numerous,  but  omniverous.  All 
of  them  professed  to  keep  everything,  and  the  stocks  generally 
included  most  necessaries,  from  a  suit  of  clothes  to  a  tin  dipper. 
The  storekeepers  were  bustling  men,  always  on  the  lookout  for 
good  speculations,  and  always  putting  up  new  frame  buildings. 
Echo  was,  in  fact,  building  all  the  time,  and  the  clang  of  ham- 
mers and  the  grating  of  saws  divided  the  honors  with  the 
scream  of  locomotive  whistles,  the  melancholy  sound  of  locomo- 
tive bells,  and  the  rumble  of  approaching  and  departing  trains. 

To  such  a  scene  was  Mr.  Cobbins  introduced,  though  not  for 
the  first  time.  In  truth,  this  gentleman  looked  upon  railroad 
towns  as  the  normal  condition  of  things.  He  had  spent  some 
years  in  following  the  dregs  of  civilization  as  they  were  pushed 
westward,  and  his  general  impressions  bore  a  curiously  grotesque 
resemblance  to  the  traditionally  reported  opinions  of  Colonel 
Boone,  the  famous  pioneer.  Like  that  redoubtable  personage, 
Mr.  Cobbins  entertained  an  aversion  to  crowded  cities,  though 
certainly  from  different  motires.  The  "clearings"  avoided  by  him 
were  the  clearings  made  by  the  establishment  of  law  and  order. 


MIDDLE   GROUND.  21 

He  regarded  Courts,  Sheriffs  and  jails  as  products  of  an  effete 
civilization,  and  in  his  gloomier  moments  was  wont  to  take  a 
depressing  view  of  the  condition  of  the  age,  observing  at  such 
times  that  "  There  was  mighty  little  show  nowadays  for  a  man  to 
get  a  square  living,  wot  with  them  d — d  newspapers  and  new- 
fangled ideas  'bout  sportin'  caracters."  But  it  was  seldom  that  he 
gave  way  to  such  reflections,  being  on  the  whole  inclined  to  be 
extremely  practical,  and  acting  generally  upon  the  principle 
that  "  sufficient  for  the  day  is  the  evil  thereof,"  a  maxim  applied 
by  him  in  a  manner  that  would  perhaps  have  startled  the  or- 
thodox. 

In  the  present  instance  he  had  no  time  for  vain  imaginings. 
His  work  was  cutout  for  him,  and  he  proceeded  to  set  about  it 
with  characteristic  energy  and  shrewdness.  There  were  many 
track-layers  at  Echo  just  then,  for  as  the  line  was  approaching 
completion  some  hundreds  had  been  sent  back  from  the  front, 
and  were  waiting  to  be  paid  off  before  proceeding  further  east- 
ward. These  men  were  mostly  armed,  and  being  a  desperate 
class  generally,  it  was  rather  a  hazardous  undertaking  to  fleece 
them.  One  or  two  of  Mr.  Cobbins'  particular  friends  had  found 
this  out  to  their  cost,  and  not  being  quick  enough  in  taking  a 
hint  had  closed  their  careers  at  the  end  of  a  rope,  hastily  adjusted 
to  the  nearest  tree.  Bearing  these  incidents  in  mind,  our  ad- 
venturer determined  to  guard  against  one  class  of  accidents  as, 
much  as  possible  by  securing  all  the  weapons  of  his  intended 
victims;  and  as  the  men  were  speedily  going  back  to  civiliza- 
tion, and  a  careless  set,  he  found  little  difficulty  in  carrying  out 
his  plans  and  winning  their  pistols  from  them.  He  looked  upon 
this  as  time  and  money  well  bestowed,  even  if  he  lost,  because 
he  was  confident  that  when  his  partner  arrived  they  would  win 
back  every  dollar  so  expended. 

The  headquarters  of  Mr.  Cobbins  were  at  the  Walker  House, 
where  he  managed  to  secure  a  nice  little  side  room  off  the  bar 
for  the  operations  of  the  morrow.  In  the  meantime,  having 
filled  his  portmanteau  with  pistols,  he  devoted  the  remainder  of 
the  day  to  making  himself  agreeable,  which  he  did  by  standing 
treat  to  all  hands,  by  playing  billiards  and  losing,  and  by  initia- 
ting half  a  dozen  of  the  men  from  whom  he  feared  trouble  most 


22  MIDDLE   GROUND. 

into  the  mysteries  of  some  gambling  fraud,  which  seemed  easy 
enough  when  shown,  but  which  the  student  could  never  after 
perform  so  as  to  deceive  anybody.  So  the  time  passed  cheer- 
fully at  Echo,  and  though  the  evening  was  noisy  and  slightly 
"  lively,"  the  exuberance  of  spirits  noticeable  at  Kill-me-Quick 
was  chastened  here  by  the  knowledge  that  a  set  of  men  who 
called  themselves  Mormon  police  were  in  charge  of  the  town, 
and  (notwithstanding  the  peculiar  character  of  their  creed) 
were  by  no  means  the  kind  to  be  trifled  with. 

On  the  morrow  Mr.  Belto  appeared,  urbane,  genial  and 
sprightly,  and  his  partner  having  circulated  the  announcement 
that  they  proposed  to  start  a  "little  game"  at  the  Walker 
House,  and  the  paymaster's  car  having  also  arrived,  a  brisk 
business  was  speedily  commenced.  Mr.  Cobbins'  favorite  game 
was  three-card  monte — an  amusement  which  has  the  advantage 
of  being  perfectly  safe  (for  the  dealer),  as  he  cannot  by  any  pos- 
sibility lose  a  bet  unless  he  makes  a  mistake  and  deals  fairly — 
an  error  never^to  my  knowledge  committed  by  a  professional. 
On  this  occasion,  however,  faro  was  introduced,  and  Mr.  Belto 
had  an  opportunity  of  exhibiting  his  thorough  acquaintance 
with  the  ingenious  mechanism  of  a  little  silver  box,  so  deftly 
fitt6d  with  delicate  springs  as  to  render  the  game  almost  as  safe 
a  one  as  three-card  monte. 

The  partners  played  with  their  victims  skillfully.  When- 
ever they  got  a  suspicious  customer  they  allowed  him  to  win, 
but  gradualty  squeezed  him  out  of  the  game.  Whenever  they 
got  an  impetuous  customer  they  gave  plenty  of  line,  and  at 
length  landed  him  neatly,  high  and  dry.  All  day  long  there 
was  a  steady  stream  of  men  flowing  towards  the  paymaster's 
car>  and  another  stream  flowing  from  the  paymaster's  car  to  the 
little  side  room  in  the  Walker  House.  The  game  was  very  suc- 
cessful, and  consequently  as  evening  approached  the  knots  of 
discontented,  impoverished  players  who  collected  outside  began 
to  increase  rapidly.  Mr.  Cobbins,  sallying  out  to  reconnoiter, 
during  a  temporary  lull,  did  not  like  the  aspect  of  affairs.  He 
observed  that  there  was  a  disposition  among  the  knots  to  merge 
into  a  crowd,  that  there  was  a  disposition  among  the  grumbling 
members  of  the  knots  to  raise  their  voices  and  speak  angrily 


MIDDLE   GROUND.  23 

and  loudly,  and  that  there  was  a  disposition  to  join  in  a  chorus, 
among  the  words  of  which  (all  very  vigorous)  the  expressions 
"  hogging  game,"  "  d — d  thieves,"  "  lynch  'em,"  etc.,  were 
plainly  distinguishable. 

Returning  to  the  little  side  room  he  conveyed,  in  a  whis- 
pered communication,  the  results  of  his  reconnoissance  to  Mr. 
Belto,  and  the  latter  gentleman,  though  outwardly  calm,  evi- 
dently shared  in  the  uneasiness  so  created.  He  was  loth  to 
leave  the  harvest  partly  ungathered,  however,  and  pressed  for 
a  little  more  time.  Mr.  Cobbins  shook  his  head,  and  at  that 
moment  a  loud  muttering  sound  caught  their  ears.  It  was  sue. 
ceeded  by  a  stern  cry,  embodying  the  sentiments  expressed  in 
the  chorus  referred  to  previously,  and  it  settled  the  question. 
-Rapidly  securing  about  their  persons  the  fruits  of  the  day's  en- 
terprise, the  worthy  pair  slipped  quietly  out  at  the  back  door, 
hoping  to  get  on  board  a  train  which  they  knew  was  about  to 
start  for  the  front.  In  order  to  reach  the  railroad,  however, 
they  had  to  pass  the  main  street,  and  though  they  made  a  long 
detour,  and  came  out  at  the  lower  end  of  the  town,  near  the 
telegraph  office,  they  failed  to  elude  their  indignant  victims. 
It  seems  that  Mr.  Walker,  fearful  that  revenge  would  be  taken 
on  his  establishment,  had  pointed  out  to  the  angry  men  the 
course  taken  by  the  gamblers,  and  the  result  was  that  when 
they  emerged  from  the  rear  of  the  houses  they  found  them- 
selves within  fifty  feet  of  a  furious  mob,  advancing  with  cries 
of  rage  and  fearful  threats  and  execrations,  toward  them. 

Another  glance  showed  them  that  the  train  on  which  they 
had  relied  was  already  moving  out  of  the  station,  and  they  saw 
at  once  that  if  they  could  succeed  in  reaching  the  cars  they 
were  saved — and  lost  if  they  failed.  It  is  surprising  how  fast 
men  not  otherwise  fitted  for  or  trained  to  such  exercises  will 
run,  with  a  metaphorical  halter  about  their  necks.  Messra. 
Belto  and  Cobbins,  on  this  occasion,  rivaled  the  famous  Deer- 
foot,  and  as  their  efforts  were  stimulated  by  yells,  curses,  and 
occasional  pistol  shots  (for  they  had  not  succeeded  in  securing 
all  the  weapons),  there  was  no  chance  for  any  relaxation  of 
their  speed.  Indeed,  it  was  a  hot  chase.  More  than  once  the 
gamblers  thought  it  was  a  vain  chase.  But  fortune  favors  the 


24  MIDDLE   GROUND. 

bold,  and  they  reached  the  cars  and  sprang  upon  them  just  as 
the  train  was  getting  well  under  way.  The  crowd  behind 
hooted  and  yelled,  and  flung  stones,  and  continued  to  run  for- 
ward- But  the  chase  was  ended,  to  all  intents  and  purposes, 
and  the  baffled  laborers  were  compelled  to  return,  solacing 
themselves  with  the  reflection  that  if  ever  they  got  Messrs. 
Belto  and  Cobbins  in  their  hands  again — well,  they  would  see. 

Some  minutes  passed  before  the  panting  gamblers  had  re- 
covered sufficiently  to  look  about  them,  but  when  they  did  they 
found  themselves  on  one  of  the  rear  trucks  of  a  train  loaded 
with  wooden  ties,  and  having  a  caboose  behind  the  engine.  As 
this  car  seemed  to  present  better  prospects  of  comfort  than  the 
open  truck  on  which  they  were  standing  they  determined  to 
make  their  way  to  it,  and  forthwith  proceeded  to  clamber  over 
the  ties.  They  had  reached  within  one  car  of  the  caboose  when 
its  door  was  opened  and  a  man  appeared  on  the  platform  and 
looked  toward  them. 

The  recognition  was  instantaneous  and  mutual.  It  was  the 
Green  Hand — the  "  durn  skunk  " — who  had  burned  Kill-me- 
Quick  and  secured  their  money.  . 

Each  of  the  three  uttered  an  exclamation.  The  stranger's 
was  one  of  surprise;  Mr.  Belto's  was  one  of  fierce  hatred  and 
anger,  and  Mr.  Cobbins'  was  one  of  ominous  determination. 
The  next  instant  the  two  partners  were  scrambling  over  the 
ties  to  get  at  their  enemy. 

He  saw  their  movement,  divined  its  intention,  glanced  be- 
hind and  around  him,  then  quickly  stooped.  Hising  in  a  mo- 
ment he  coolly  folded  his  arms  and  smiled  in  their  faces  as  they 
descended  upon  the  platform  of  the  last  car  that  interposed  be- 
tween them.  Mr.  Belto  was  about  to  spring  across  when  Cob- 
bins  caught  him  by  the  arm  and  held  him  back,  exclaiming: 
"  Hold  on  !  The  durn  skunk's  uncoupled  the  train  !  " 

As  he  spoke,  the  engine,  caboose,  and  one  car  of  ties  shot 
forward,  relieved  of  the  weight  of  the  rear  cars,  and  a  space  of 
a  hundred  yards  was  speedily  placed  between  the  gamblers  and 
their  enemy. 

But  the  end  was  not  yet.  When  the  stranger  uncoupled  the 
train  he  did  it  as  a  desperate  resort,  and  did  not  take  into  ac- 


MIDDLE   GROUND.  25 

count  his  surroundings.  On  leaving  Echo  City  the  grade  de- 
scends rapidly,  after  a  short  level,  and  for  twenty  miles  the 
pitch  is  ninety  feet  to  the  mile.  By  uncoupling  the  train  the 
engine  was  made  the  lighter  portion,  and  the  heavily  loaded 
rear  cars,  descending  unchecked,  threatened  ruin  and  destruc- 
tion to  all  in  front  of  them.  The  danger  was  imminent  and 
deadly. 

The  conductor  saw  what  had  happened,  though  he  did  not 
know  how  it  had  occurred,  and  springing  on  to  the  engine 
caused  the  throttle  valve  to  be  thrown  wide  open,  and  every 
pound  of  steam  put  on. 

The  dusk  of  evening  was  settling  over  the  scene  as  this  fear- 
ful race  began.  The  Weber  river  dashed  and  foamed  beside  the 
track,  as  though  bent  on  outstripping  the  train.  Mile  after 
mile  was  passed,  and  still  the  terrible  cars  thundered  in  pursuit 
of  the  engine.  The  open  country  was  left  behind,  and  the  roar- 
ing train  dashed  into  the  gloom  of  the  Weber  Canyon.  High 
on  either  hand  the  gray  walls  of  rock  towered  grandly,  while 
the  furious  river,  lashed  and  torn  by  great  jagged  rocks,  and 
maddened  with  the  torture,  chafed,  and  foamed,  and  hurled  it- 
self forward  with  blind  recklessness;  now  plunging  downward 
into  deep,  dark  gorges,  from  the  recesses  of  which  its  hoarse 
voice  resounded  awfully ;  now  emerging  into  the  light,  and 
pouring  in  one  shining  volume  through  some  clearly,  smoothly 
cut  defile,  only  to  be  broken  and  rent  into  fragments  again  a 
few  yards  further  on.  The  tall  trees  rustled  and  bent  in  the 
blast  that,  ^isiug  at  set  of  sun,  swept  through  the  narrow  can- 
yon as  through  a  mighty  funnel,  and  shrieked  and  moaned  far 
up  among  the  bleak,  scarred  crags  that  crowned  the  summit 
of  the  ravine.  The  engine  labored;  the  fires  roared  and 
glowed ;  the  sweating  fireman  piled  fuel  in  the  furnace  for  dear 
life ;  the  engineer,  pale  as  death,  but  with  steady  hand  and  eye, 
eased  the  mighty  machine,  and  oiled  it  here  and  there ;  the  con- 
ductor stood  upon  the  tender,  his  whole  figure  breathing  the 
most  intense  excitement,  his  hand  lifted  as  a  signal  to  the  engi- 
neer, his  eyes  bent  upon  the  coming  horror.  And  there,  ever 
close  and  closer  yet,  rolled  and  thundered  the  pursuer,  slowly 
but  surely  lessening  the  distance. 


26  ^  MIDDLE   GROUND. 

The  stranger  stood  on  the  platform  of  the  caboose.  He  was 
pale  but  collected,  and  there  was  a  bitterness  upon  his  lips  that 
spoke  almost  of  recklessness.  He  was  gazing  at  the  approach- 
ing cars,  on  which  the  two  gamblers,  now  scared  out  of  all 
thought  of  revenge,  clung  with  desperate  grip,  as  the  trucks 
beneath  them  sprang  along  the  track.  Suddenly,  as  he  gazed, 
a  soft  voice,  trembling,  asked  : 

"  Oh,  sir,  what  is  all  this  ?  Why  are  we  going  so  fast  ?  Is 
there  any  danger  ?  " 

He  started  and  turned  to  look  at  his  questioner,  a  young 
girl,  with  great  blue  eyes,  pure  complexion,  sweet  mouth  and 
abundant  brown  hair — a  girl  whose  appearance  would  have  ar- 
rested attention  anywhere.  Quietly  dressed,  in  a  dark,  plain 
traveling  suit ;  easy  of  carriage ;  soft  of  voice ;  gentle  and  well- 
bred  of  manner.  The  stranger  regarded  her  at  first  with  sur- 
prise, then  with  curiosity,  then  with  a  mingled  expression  of 
interest  and  distress. 

"  Madam,"  he  at  length  replied,  "  it  would  be  folly  to  deny 
that  we  are  in  danger — great  danger.  Those  cars  you  see  be- 
hind us  have  been  detached  from  the  engine,  and  unless  we  can 
keep  ahead  of  them  until  we  reach  the  next  station  they  will 
run  into  and  wreck  us.  But  may  I  ask  how  you  came  to  be 
here.  I  thought  there  were  no  other  passengers  than  myself 
on  board  !" 

The  girl  had  become  very  pale  while  he  was  speaking,  but 
now  she  put  both  her  hands  on  his  arm,  and  said,  simply  :  "  Oh, 
sir,  I  am  on  my  way  to  meet  my  lover.  We  were  to  have  been 
married  on  my  arrival  in  California.  But  now — "  she  replied 
with  a  frightened  look  at  the  cars  thundering  on  behind,  and 
burst  into  tears. 

The  stranger  was  touched  and  troubled.  He  led  her  back 
into  the  caboose,  uttered  such  words  of  comfort  as  came  to  his 
lips,  and  begging  her  to  keep  a  good  heart,  assured  her  he 
would  return  soon,  and  went  out  with  a  new  thought  and  a 
new  determination.  Springing  on  the  last  car,  and  calling  the 
conductor  to  aid  him,  he  began  throwing  the  ties  off,  in  the 
track  of  the  advancing  trucks.  Yain  hope !  The  swooping 
cars  caught  the  heavy  timbers  and  flung  them  bodily  into  the 


MIDDLE   GROUND.  27 

air  on  either  side  of  the  track,  as  the  waves  of  ocean  fling  their 
spray  aloft.  The  men  redoubled  their  energies,  and  piled  heap 
on  heap  of  ties  upon  the  track.  The  pursuer  descended  upon 
and  scattered  them  as  though  they  had  been  heaps  of  dry 
leaves. 

And  the  night  fell  as  the  fearful  race  progressed.  The  last 
rays  of  the  sun  gilded  the  craggy  peaks,  and  brought  out  in 
strong  relief  the  feathery  boughs  of  the  tallest  pines ;  then  sank 
away,  and  the  gloom  deepened  through  the  canyon.  The  river 
still  raved  and  raged  beside  the  track,  but  now  its  course  could 
only  be  traced  by  the  white  flashing  of  its  foam-capped  rapids. 
The  furious  pace  at  which  they  were  going  was  shown  no  less 
by  the  fiery  stream  that  encircled  the  wheels  of  the  pursuing 
cars,  than  by  the  keen,  sweeping,  steady  blast  that  opposed 
them. 

They  rushed  through  a  tunnel,  plunging,  as  it  seemed,  head- 
long at  the  mountain  wall,  and  entering  a  yawning  chasm  that 
suddenly  appeared,  with  a  wild  scream,  to  dash  out  again  into 
the  free  air,  past  where  a  knot  of  workmen  had  kindled  a  huge 
fire,  and  stood  around  it,  grim  and  weird  in  the  ruddy  light.  A 
shout  arose  from  the  assembled  workmen,  was  wafted  away 
into  the  night  as  they  plunged  desperately  forward,  and  again 
all  was  darkness,  save  where  two  streams  of  fiery  sparks  re- 
vealed the  position  of  the  advancing  cars. 

The  engineer  had  done  all  that  was  in  his  power.  The  en- 
gine was  taxed  to  its  utmost  fraction  of  endurance.  Every 
available  thing  had  been  thrown  upon  the  track,  and  every 
effort  had  failed.  There  was  not  fifty  yards  between  them  and 
a  frightful  death,  and  they  knew  it.  When  all  that  could  be 
had  been  done  the  stranger  returned  to  the  caboose  and  found 
the  young  girl — her  name  she  said  was  Mary  Sheldon — pray- 
ing, and  crying  softly.  She  was  very  frightened,  but  it  was 
evident  that  her  thoughts  were  filled  with  distress,  not  on  her 
own  account,  but  because  of  the  dear  one  who  was  about  to  lose 
her.  In  her  simple,  pure  heart,  she  felt  that  death  could  bring 
no  harm  to  her;  but  how  would  he  live  without  her?  So  she 
cried  softly,  and  thought  very  tenderly  of  her  absent  lover, 
praying  more  for  him  than  for  herself.  And  the  stranger, 


28  MIDDLE   GROUND. 

noting  her  mood  with  quick  observance,  began  to  admire  the 
girl,  but  in  a  way  that  he  was  not  conscious  of  having  admired 
any  woman  before.  He  tried  to  say  something  cheering  to  her, 
but  there  was  not  much  to  be  said,  and  he  soon  realized  that, 
and  was  silent — which  was  the  best  course  that  he  could  have 
taken. 

And  now  there  was  a  wild  shout  from  the  conductor,  and 
the  engineer's  whistle  was  blown  shrilly.  He  sprang  into  the 
open  air  and  saw  that  a  catastrophe  was  at  hand. 

Right  in  front  of  them  was  a  bridge  over  a  mountain  tor- 
rent, and  they  were  sweeping  down  upon  it  with  the  speed  of 
the  wind.  But  on  the  timbers  of  the  bridge,  and  in  the  center 
of  the  track,  and  all  about  the  bridge,  could  be  seen,  by  the 
light  of  great  fires  kindled  on  the  banks,  men  waving  lanterns 
wildly,  and  gesticulating  with  frantic  energy.  The  bridge  had 
given  way,  and  was  even  then  being  repaired.  The  warning 
was  too  late.  The  throttle  valve  was  wide  open,  the  last  pound 
of  steam  was  on,  the  engine  was  throbbing  all  over  with  the 
terrific  energy  of  its  action,  as  they  swept  like  a  whirlwind  upon 
the  bridge,  dashed  by  the  upturned  horrified  faces  of  the  work- 
men, and  rushed  upon  their  fate. 

There  was  no  time  for  thought  or  action  of  any  kind.  They 
felt  the  timbers  tremble;  they  felt  the  bridge  swaying;  they 

heard  it  creak and  then  they  were  past  and  over  it,  dashing 

along  again  upon  the  firm  track,  in  safety. 

As  they  cleared  the  bridge  the  pursuing  cars  thundered 
down  upon  it.  They  were  half  way  across  when  the  whole 
structure  shook,  swayed,  reeled  for  a  moment  to  and  fro,  and 
then  sank,  with  a  crash  heard  above  the  roar  of  the  torrent, 
into  the  dark  waters  below. 


CHAPTER    III. 

TWO    KINDS    OP   LOVE. 

The  town  of  Ogden,  at  the  period  of  this  history,  was  a  very 
quiet,  sober,  humdrum  little  place.  •  The  Gentiles  had  not  then 
invaded  Utah  as  they  have  since,  and  their  presence  at  Ogden 


MIDDLE   GROUND.  29 

was  so  rare  as  to  be  a  matter  for  gossip.  Ogden  was  thor- 
oughly orthodox,  from  a  Mormon  point  of  view ;  thoroughly 
peaceful ;  thoroughly  stagnant.  Its  little  main  street  boasted 
about  half  a  dozen  stores,  which  did  a  small  business  with  the 
brothers  and  sisters  in  the  neighborhood,  and  occasionally  sup- 
plied an  outfit  for  some  farmer  who  drove  into  town  in  a  wagon 
unique  in  pattern,  drawn  by  horses  unacquainted  with  the  lux- 
ury of  the  currycomb.  The  principal  building  in  the  place  was 
the  Tithing  House,  which  stood  within  high  walls  of  adobe, 
and  presented  a  somewhat  imposing  and  official  appearance. 
Nearly  opposite  to  this  institution  was  the  only  place  of  enter- 
tainment known  to  Ogden,  and  that  there  might  be  no  cause 
cause  for  scandal,  this  hostelry  was  presided  over  by  a  Bishop. 
The  traffic  up  to  this  time  had  been  chiefly  confined  to  the  Saints 
themselves,  and  the  approach  of  the  great  railroad  from  both 
sides  had  brought  many  strangers  into  the  narrow  Ogden  focus, 
and  was  beginning  to  stir  up  the  somewhat  sleepy  Mormons  to 
an  appreciation  of  the  fact  that  there  were  a  good  many  people 
in  the  world,  outside  of  Utah. 

Strangers  coming  into  Ogden  from  East  or  West  used  to  say 
that  they  could  always  distinguish  a  Mormon  from  a  Gentile, 
and  further  alleged  that  the  Saints  were  characterized  by  a  pe- 
culiar slouching  gait  and  downcast  expression,  suggestive  of 
priestly  tyranny,  and  domestic  burdens  exceeding  those  which 
fall  to  the  lot  of  monogamic  people.  Whether  there  was  any 
foundation  in  fact  for  this  fancy,  matters  little,  but  certain  it 
is  that  the  Saints  at  Ogden  (as  elsewhere)  were  very  quiet  in 
their  demeanor ;  that  the  women  dressed  with  a  plainness  not 
far  removed  from  abominable  ugliness  of  costume  ;  and  that  the 
stranger  who  permitted  his  eyes  to  rove  in  the  direction  of  any 
of  these  sisters  was  tolerably  sure  to  encounter  the  watchful, 
suspicious,  or  angry  gaze,  of  some  jealous  Saint,  before  long. 

Bishop  North,  who  kept  the  hotel,  was  a  fine  looking,  intel- 
ligent man,  and  had  ten  wives.  How  he  managed  to  get  on 
with  them  all,  is  more  than  I  know ;  but  I  have  a  shrewd  sus- 
picion that  he  did  not  always  succeed  in  maintaining  that  har- 
mony which  is  indispensable  to  the  comfort  of  the  domestic 
hearth — or  hearths.  Thus,  on  one  occasion,  having  recently 


30  MIDDLE   GROUND. 

taken  his  tenth  spouse,  he  became  imprudently  enamored  of 
that  damsel,  and  for  a  time  neglected  the  nine  other  ladies  who 
were  supposed  to  share  his  affections.  In  fact,  being  then  en- 
gaged in  filling  a  contract  for  grading  on  the  line  of  the  rail- 
road, he  took  Mrs.  Bishop  North  Number  Ten  to  live  with  him 
in  camp,  and  kept  her  there  many  weeks.  The  ire  of  the  be- 
reaved nine  was  thereby  aroused,  and  there  came  a  day  when 
it  was  necessary  to  dispatch  a  messenger  post  haste  to  the  con- 
tractor's camp,  with  the  startling  intelligence  that  a  mutiny  had 
broken  out  in  the  Bishop's  family,  and  that  his  presence  on  the 
spot  was  absolutely  required.  He  returned  to  Ogden,  and  found 
matters  wearing  so  serious  an  aspect  that  it  took  three  days  to 
negotiate  a  peace,  and  even  then  a  cessation  of  hostilities  was 
only  secured  by  certain  humiliating  concessions.  The  Bishop 
was  a  man  of  strong  mind,  but  it  has  been  whispered  that  bis 
defeat  on  this  occasion  broke  his  spirit,  and  that  he  was  never 
the  same  afterwards.  Certain  it  is  that  within  a  year  his  place 
was  vacant,  and  ten  inconsolable  widows  mourned  their  liege 
lord. 

But  that  melancholy  event  was  yet  in  the  womb  of  the  future 
when,  as  dusk  was  falling  on  a  certain  summer  evening,  a  pass- 
ing train  loaded  with  raits  and  other  road  material,  stopped  in 
front  of  the  long  lane  that  leads  from  the  track  into  the  town, 
and  two  passengers  descended.  They  were  of  opposite  sexes, 
young,  good-looking,  and  apparently  well-to-do.  The  girl  was 
Miss  Mary  Sheldon.  The  man  was  the  stranger,  whom,  since 
she  addressed  him  as  Mr.  Broome,  may  be  designated  hereafter 
by  that  name — which  was  in  fact  his  own. 

They  had  been  thrown  very  much  together  since  their  strange 
meeting  on  the  train,  and  the  girl  had  grown  upon  him  greatly. 
There  had  been  trouble  in  reaching  Ogden,  for  as  there  were  no 
regular  trains  they  were  often  compelled  to  wait  for  long  hours 
at  unfrequented  parts  of  the  track,  or  pass  time  away  on  sidings  ; 
and  thus  much  opportunity  for  conversation  had  occurred.  He 
had  learned  from  her  her  little  history.  How  she  had  became 
engaged  to  young  John  Rutter,  who  had  gone  to  California  and 
purchased  an  interest  in  a  quartz  mine.  How  he  was  so  busy 
that  he  could  not  come  all  the  way  to  her  Eastern  home  to  fetch 


MIDDLE   GROUND.  31 

his  bride,  but  had  written  to  her  to  come  on  to  Ogden,  and  had 
bespoken  for  her  the  attention  of  some  of  his  married  friends 
who  were  about  returning  to  the  West :  how  these  friends  had 
been  prevented  from  returning  as  contemplated,  by  illness;  and 
how  she  had  determined  to  make  the  journey  alone  rather  than 
disappoint  him. 

She  had  not  been  so  successful  in  unravelling  the  skein  of  her 
companion's  story.  He  was  reticent  in  regard  to  himself,  and 
all  she  could  gather  was  that  he  was  born  in  the  East  some- 
where, had  been  travelling  and  wandering  for  many  years,  and 
did  not  seem  to  be  at  all  certain  as  to  his  destination,  or  at  all 
determined  as  to  his  business  when  he  arrived  there.  For  the 
rest,  he  was  kind  and  thoughtful ;  always  on  the  watch  to 
secure  her  comfort  and  ease;  respectful  in  his  address;  cheerful 
and  agreeable  in  his  conservation ;  and  altogether  a  very 
pleasant  companion.  This  was  the  impression  Henry  Broome 
had  created  in  the  mind  of  the  fair  young  creature  he  had  as  it 
were  taken  in  charge.  She  was  so  full  of  her  lover  that  all  other 
men  had  ceased  to  be  interesting  to  her,  and  her  love  was 
so  wholly  centered  on  the  absent,  that  she  was  far  more  genial 
and  unembarrassed  with  her  new  friend  than  she  could  have 
been  under  other  circumstances. 

The  impression  she  had  made  upon  him  was  a  strong  one,  and 
yet  in  no  sense  dangerous  for  either  of  them.  He  found  in  her 
a  simple,  pure-minded,  innocent  girl.  One  of  those  girls  whose 
perfect  innocence  is  so  much  surer  a  protection  to  them  than 
that  much-lauded  attribute  called  knowledge  of  the  world,  could 
be.  Her  conversation  cheered  and  refreshed  him,  because  it 
took  him  out  of  the  grooves  he  had  been  traversing  so  long, 
and  because  it  showed  a  mind  which  only  recognized  goodness 
and  truth,  and  thus  tacitly  nattered  all  with  whom  it  came  in 
contact.  Henry  Broome  had  been  wild,  nay,  wicked.  He  had 
dissipated,  he  had  gambled,  he  had  consorted  with  more  than 
doubtful  characters.  He  had  done  a  great  many  things  which 
it  is  neither  necessary  nor  profitable  to  recount  here ;  and  he 
was  just  in  that  condition  of  mind  when  a  little  thing  would 
determine  his  future  either  way — for  good  or  for  evil. 

Mary  Sheldon  was  not  the  kind  of  girl  he  could  have  fallen 


32  MIDDLE   GROUND. 

in  love  with.  He  was  not  yet  sufficiently  softened  to  think  of 
anything  of  the  kind,  indeed,  having  passed  his  later  years 
among  scenes  of  lawlessness  and  rude  energy  that  excited  and 
amused,  while  unsettling,  him.  But  he  felt  that  he  took  great 
pleasure  in  this  sweet  little  girl,  and  he  also  felt  that  the  com. 
panionship  was  doing  him  good.  It  would  be  much  harder  for 
him  to  return  to  the  old  wild  life  after  having  met  her,  than  he 
perhaps  imagined  at  the  time,  although  even  then  he  found  him- 
self occasionally  wondering  whether  after  all  there  might  not 
be  real  pleasure  and  content  in  the  society  to  which  she  natu- 
rally belonged. 

So  they  became  very  friendly,  indeed  much  more  so  than  is 
usually  the  case  when  people  are  thrown  together  by  accident. 
They  had  passed  through  a  great  danger  together,  and  that  was 
one  bond  of  sympathy.  She  had  suifered  him  to  read  her  heart, 
in  the  moment  when  she  thought  the  end  had  come;  and  that 
was  another  bond  of  sympathy.  And  so  it  happened  that  they 
were  very  chatty  and  merry  together  as  they  walked  up  the 
long  lane  from  the  railway,  and  that  Bishop  North,  seeing  them 
so  friendly  and  intimate,  concluded  at  once,  with  the  wisdom  of 
a  much-married  man,  that  they  were  not  man  and  wife,  and 
showed  them  to  separate  apartments. 

But  though  Bishop  North's  matrimonial  experience  directed 
him  aright,  the  brothers  and  sisters  who  saw  the  pair  approach- 
ing, and  who  immediately  fell  to  speculating  about  them,  as 
people  do  in  small  places  when  strangers  arrive,  speedily  sus- 
pected, with  that  lack  of  charity  which  is  so  very  reprehensible 
and  so  very  human,  that  there  must  be  something  wrong  about 
them.  In  the  first  place  they  were  evidently  Gentiles,  and 
being  Gentiles,  it  was  of  course  the  most  natural  thing  in  the 
world  that  they  should  be  wicked.  In  the  next  place  they  were 
evidently  not  married  ;  and  the  Saints  and  Saintesses  somewhat 
inconsequently  argued  from  this  that  they  ought  to  be.  In  the 
third  and  last  place  they  had  taken  separate  apartments,  and 
this  was  regarded  as  a  clear  proof  that  there  must  be  something 
wrong  about  them.  Had  they  been  as  bad  as  the  good  people 
of  Ogden  wished  to  believe  them,  and  had  they  undertaken  to 
play  the  role  of  man  and  wife,  the  probability  is  that  they 


MIDDLE   GROUND.  33 

would  have  escaped  calumny.  But  being  virtuous,  and  acting 
as  virtuous  people  do  act,  they  were  at  once  set  down  as  deep, 
designing  hypocrites,  and  abandoned  characters.  Of  course  the 
good  people  of  Ogden  were  much  to  blame  for  their  censorious, 
ness,  but  it  seems  to  me  that  Ogden  is  not  the  only  place  in  the 
world  where  such  a  thing  might  have  happened. 

However,  being  in  happy  ignorance  of  what  was  passing  in 
the  minds  of  the  townfolk,  the  travelers  calmly  established 
themselves  in  their  new  quarters  and  proceeded  to  prepare  for 
supper.  John  Rutter  had  not  yet  arrived,  and  there  was  noth- 
ing to  do  but  to  wait  for  his  appearance. 

The  table  kept  by  Bishop  .North  was  by  no  means  a  luxu- 
rious one;  but,  though  it  had  been  much  more  plentifully 
spread,  Mary  Sheldon  would  scarcely  have  noticed  the  differ- 
ence. Of  course  she  had  no  appetite,  and  her  companion  was 
so  occupied  in  watching  her  (which  he  did  with  an  amused  curi- 
osity, as  a  naturalist  might  study  the  habits  of  some  newly  dis- 
covered animal),  that  he,  too,  ate  very  little.  Indeed,  they 
both  rose  quickly  from  the  table  and  retired  to  the  Bishop's 
parlor,  which  he  had  kindly  placed  at  their  disposal. 

Mary  was  nervous  and  excited.  Every  footstep  that 
sounded  on  the  stairs  brought  a  flush  to  her  cheek  and  a  light 
to  her  eye,  and  after  several  ineffectual  attempts  to  start  a  con- 
versation, Henry  came  to  the  conclusion  that  the  scheme  was 
impracticable,  and,  lapsing  into  silence,  attempted  to  amuse 
himself  with  the  only  book  in  the  room,  which  happened  to  be 
a  Directory  of  Salt  Lake  City. 

But,  though  Mary  could  not  enter  into  a  serious  conversa- 
tion, she  was  equally  unable  to  keep  quiet;  and,  after  rising  a 
dozen  times  to  look  out  of  the  window,  and  glancing  as  often  at 
her  watch,  and  sighing,  and  fidgeting  about  the  room,  she  be- 
gan asking  her  companion  questions,  and  forgetting  his  answers 
before  he  had  finished  them. 

Presently,  however,  a  diversion  was  effected  by  the  appear- 
ance of  the  Bishop,  who  brought  an  offering  of  a  wonderful 
home-made  beverage  which  he  called  champagne,  and  which  was 
solemnly  drunk,  with  many  expressions  of  delight  and  satisfac- 
tion, and  much  inward  shuddering  and  mental  disturbance. 
3 


34  MIDDLE   GROUND. 

After  a  few  minutes  the  Bishop  (who  addressed  Mary  as  Sister 
Sheldon,  much  to  her  astonishment  and  alarm,  for  she  did  not 
know  but  that  this  might  constitute,  in  some  mysterious  way,  a 
claim  on  her  allegiance  to  the  Mormon  Church),  rose  and  bowed 
himself  out,  and  then,  the  ice  being  broken,  the  young  couple 
chatted  freely  and  comfortably  about  the  manners  and  customs 
of  the  Saints.  Of  course  Mary  was  curious  to  see  a  real  Mor- 
mon wife,  and  that  desire  was  presently  gratified  by  the  en- 
trance of  Mrs.  North  Number  Ten,  who  was  a  rather  good 
looking  young  woman,  with  an  unnatural  smile,  and  an  under- 
lying expression  of  perplexity  and  fretfulness.  She  was  evi- 
dently desirous  of  conveying  the  impression  that  her  position 
was  a  pleasant  and  happy  one,  but  her  efforts  were  marred  by 
the  behavior  of  Mary,  who  spoke  to  and  regarded  her  all  the 
time  in  a  tender  and  pitying  way  which  had  the  effect  of  con- 
fusing her  greatly. 

When  she  had  gone,  Mary  sat  for  some  moments  deep  in 
thought,  and  then  said  :  "  I  wonder  how  these  women  can  bear 
to  look  at  their  sisters  'who  have  not  cast  themselves  away. 
How  bitterly  they  must  feel  the  humiliation  of  their  position 
when  they  see  Gentile  wives  secure  in  the  love  and  affection  of 
their  husbands." 

Henry  thought  of  some  wives  of  his  acquaintance  who  were 
by  no  means  secure  in  the  love  of  their  husbands,  and  ex- 
pressed himself  in  a  dubious  assent. 

"Don't  you  think,"  said  Mary,  fixing  her  great  blue  eyes 
upon  him,  "  don't  you  think  they  must  be  very  unhappy,  Mr- 
Broome  ?  " 

"Really,"  replied  Henry,  "I  have  never  given  the  subject 
much  thought.  You  see  there  are  so  many  women  now-a-days 
who  marry  for  money,  or  to  get  a  home,  or  from  a  temporary 
fancy,  and  who  don't  seem  to  expect  or  care  for  any  particular 
fidelity  or  love  from  their  husbands,  so  long  as  they  can  have 
their  own  way." 

Mary  opened  her  eyes  very  wide  at  this. 
"But  Mr.  Broome,"  she  exclaimed,  "a  true  woman  can  only 
love  one  man,  and  can  only  be  happy  when  she  knows  that  he 
loves  her  alone.     Fm  sure  I  should  break  my  heart  if  I  thought 


MIDDLE    GROUND.  35 

Johireared  for  any  one  else."     And  her  eyes  filled  with  tears  at 
the  very  thought. 

Henry  muttered  that  he  was  afraid,  if  true  women  could 
only  be  happy  under  such  circumstances,  there  must  be  a  great 
number  of  false  women  in  the  world,  for  his  experience  was 
that  dress  and  dissipation  occupied  more  room  in  the  modern 
female  heart  than  anything  else. 

Of  course  Mary  could  not  admit  this  for  a  moment,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  vindicate  her  sex  from  the  charge  of  a  tendency  to 
frivolity  and  fickleness.  In  the  course  of  her  argument  she 
grew  quite  warm,  and  was  expatiating  on  the  attributes  of  true 
womanhood,  with  sparkling  eyes  and  glowing  cheeks,  when  a 
light  step  was  heard  on  the  stairs,  the  door  was  flung  open, 
and  a  handsome  young  fellow  appeared  on  the  threshhold,  his 
face  all  aglow  with  love  and  happiness  and  blissful  anticipa- 
tion. 

Mary  sprang  up,  uttering  a  cry  of  delight,  and  was  hurrying 
to  meet  the  new  comer  with  outstretched  arms,  when  a  sudden 
change  that  passed  over  him  checked  her  midway. 

You  see  he  had  rushed  up  the  stairs,  full  of  hope,  and  joy, 
and  love,  expecting  to  find  his  darling  in  the  company  of  the 
friends  who  were  to  have  traveled  with  her  to  the  West.  He 
had  opened  the  door  prepared  to  gather  her  to  his  heart — and 
he  had  found  her  enjoying  an  animated  conversation  with  a  very 
good  looking — young — stranger.  And  seeing  this,  the  demon 
Jealousy  (always  hovering  about  lovers)  had  made  one  clutch  at 
his  heart,  and  given  it  such  a  venomous  gripe  as  drew  the 
blood  from  his  cheeks  and  the  lovelight  from  his  eyes,  and 
hushed  the  fond  words  on  his  lips,  and  paralyzed  his  limbs,  and 
left  him  standing  there,  no  longer  eager,  flushed  and  rapturous, 
but  pale,  and  cold,  and  suspicious,  and  angry. 

This  sudden — and  to  her  inexplicable  change — it  was,  that 
checked  Mary  as  she  was  running,  in  a  flutter  of  delight,  to 
bury  her  pretty  head  in  her  lover's  bosom.  He  recovered  him- 
self with  an  effort,  and  advancing,  took  her  hand  and  kissed 
her  cheek.  But  somehow  everything  was  changed  in  the  room. 
A  shadow  had  fallen  between  them.  The  meeting,  so  long 
looked  forward  to,  so  eagerly  anticipated,  so  often  rehearsed  in 


36  MIDDLE   GROUND. 

imagination,  had  come  to  pass,  and  it  was  a  gloomy  meeting 
after  all.  Mary  had  not  at  that  moment  any  suspicion  of  the 
real  cause  of  the  change  that  had  passed  over  the  scene,  but  she 
knew  that  John  was  cold ;  that  he  was  displeased  ;  that  he  was 
not  loving  and  kind.  And  then  a  sense  of  loneliness  and  de- 
sertion came  on  her,  and  as  she  looked  into  the  darkened 
face  of  her  jealous  lover,  her  poor  mouth  quivered,  and  the 
corners  drooped,  and  tears  stole  into  her  blue  eyes. 

It  was  all  very  unpleasant  and  disagreeable,  and  stupid  and 
unkind,  on  John's  part,  of  course.  But  it  was  not  altogether 
unnatural,  and  so  thought  Henry  Broome,  who  had  risen  when 
John  entered,  and  now  stood,  resting  his  hand  on  the  back  of 
his  chair,  and  looking,  with  a  grave  and  somewhat  rueful  face, 
from  one  to  the  other.  Of  course  he  saw  what  the  matter  was, 
and  he  felt  angry  with  John  for  his  stupidity  at  first ;  but  di- 
rectly after  he  began  to  reflect  a  little,  and  then  he  found  some 
excuse  for  him. 

He  would  have  retired  at  this  juncture,  but  Mary,  who  was 
still  puzzling  over  the  lamentable  change  that  was  apparent  in 
John's  demeanor,  now  roused  herself,  and  introduced  the  men 
to  each  other,  adding  that  she  was  much  indebted  to  Mr. 
Broome  for  his  many  kindnesses. 

Mr.  Rutter  bowed  coldly,  and  looked  as  though  he  could 
cheerfully  attend  the  obsequies  of  Mr.  Broome,  who,  on  his  part, 
looked  and  felt  particularly  uncomfortable,  and  not  a  little 
guilty.  Muttering  something  about  "  pleasure  of  re-union," — 
"  must  have  much  to  talk  over'* — "prefer  to  be  alone,"  etc., 
he  was  about  to  leave  the  room,  when  his  inward  monitor  ex- 
postulated with  him.  What  the  inward  monitor  said  was  to 
this  effect, — "Harry,  you  have  got  this  little  girl  into  this 
scrape,  and  its  your  business  to  get  her  out  of  it.  You  know 
you  ought  to  have  guarded  against  this  sort  of  thing,  and  you 
didn't.  Now  do  what  you  can  to  set  this  matter  right,  and 
don't  let  that  jealous  fellow  have  an  excuse  for  making  himself 
-and  his  sweetheart  miserable  any  longer." 

Now,  all  this  passed  through  his  mind  as  he  was  backing  to- 
ward the  door,  and  the  result  was  that  just  as  he  had  placed 


MIDDLE   GROUND.  37 

his  hand  on  the  door-handle  he  turned,  walked  slowly  back,  and 
said  quietly : 

"  Mr.  Rutter,  I  can't  help  seeing  that  you  were  annoyed  at 
finding  me  here,  and  I  am  afraid  if  I  go  away  without  saying 
what  I  have  on  my  mind,  that  you  and  this  young 'lady  maybe 
apt  to  have  a  misunderstanding.  I  should  be  very  sorry  in- 
deed, to  think  that  I  had  been  the  cause  of  any  trouble  between 
you,  and  I  think  it  is  my  duty  to  assure  you  " — 

Here  he  was  interrupted  by  John  Butter,  who  had  listened 
with  impatience,  and  now  turning  to  Mary  asked,  in  an  icy 
tone : 

"  Who  is  this  gentleman,  Miss  Sheldon  ?  And  how  happens 
it  that  he  assumes  the  position  of  a  mediator  between  you  and 
me?" 

This  way  of  meeting  his  well-meant  endeavors  was  not 
pleasant,  and  Henry  began  to  feel  rather  angry,  and  inclined  to 
make  a  sharp  reply.  But  he  restrained  himself,  and  merely 
turned  appealingly  to  Mary,  who  burst  into  tears,  and  ex- 
claimed between  her  sobs : 

"  He  was  on  the  train  from  Echo — and  when  the  train  ran 
away — he  threw  things  on  the  track — and  told  me  not  to  be 
frightened — but  I  was — and  I  might  have  been  killed,  John — 
and  made  up  my  mind  to  die — and  perhaps  it  would  have  been 
better  for  me — than  to  be  treated  so  cruelly — "  The  rest  was 
lost  in  a  fresh  fit  of  crying. 

This  explanation  was  not  so  luminous  as  to  satisfy  John 
Rutter,  and  Henry's  good  looks  (which  he  could  not  help  or 
disguise),  only  served  to  feed  the  flame  of  jealousy.  John  was 
naturally  a  good-tempered,  pleasant,  sympathetic,  genial  fellow ; 
but  he  was  jealous,  and  just  now  things  appeared  to  him  to 
wear  a  very  ugly  look.  He  glanced  moodily  at  Mary,  not  at 
all  softened  by  her  tears,  and  savagely  at  Henry,  who  was 
preparing  to  make  a  fresh  attempt  at  pacification,  when  the 
door  opened  again  with  an  uncompromising  crash,  and  an  ap- 
parition appeared  in  the  doorway. 

A  young  woman,  of  medium  hight,  graceful  figure,  pale  face, 
lustrous  dark  eyes  and  heavy  bands  of  black  hair ;  a  young 
woman  dressed  in  a  riding  habit  of  grey  cloth,  and  carrying  a 


38  MIDDLE  GROUND. 

whip  in  her  muscular  little  hand ;  a  young  woman  who  took  in 
the  situation  at  a  glance,  and  over  whose  beautiful  features 
there  passed  a  change  as  startling  as  that  which  had  befallen 
Mary's  lover,  as  she  stepped  into  the  apartment;  a  young  wo- 
man, whose-  sudden  and  unceremonious  entrance  produced  a 
singular  effect  upon  John  Rutter,  who  seemed  suddenly  to  have 
transferred  to  himself  all  the  confusion  and  awkwardness  that 
had  previously  sat  upon  Henry.  She  advanced  with  a  feline 
stride,  her  great  flashing  eyes  fixed  upon  John  with  a  look  of 
scorn  and  triumph  mingled,  her  red  lips  tightly  compressed, 
her  hand  twitching  nervously,  and  flapping  her  skirt  with  her 
whip.  She  looked  at  no  one  but  John,  but  her  eyes  seemed  to 
devour  him,  and  he  visibly  shrunk,  and  became  an  abject  and ' 
pitiable  object  under  that  burning  gaze. 

"  So  !"•  she  at  length  exclaimed,  when  she  had  arrived  close 
to  the  culprit,  "  So  !  This  is  the  cause  of  your  visit  to  Ogden  ! 
Ihis  is  the  contract  you  had  to  see  about !  And  this  is  the  end 
of  the  game  you  have  been  playing  with  my  heart !"  She 
paused,  half  choking  with  emotion,  indignation,  regret,  or 
grief,  and  put  her  hand  to  her  throat.  Her  slight  figure  seemed 
to  dilate  with  the  passion  that  filled  her,  and  as  she  erected  her- 
self over  him,  John  Rutter  seemed  to  shrink  and  collapse  into 
the  veriest  insignificance. 

While  this  was  passing,  Mary  had  sat  silent  with  amaze- 
ment, looking  from  one  to  the  other,  as  doubting  the  evidence 
of  her  senses.  Henry  was  no  less  amazed,  but  with  his  amaze- 
ment was  mingled  admiration  for  the  magnificent  creature  who 
had  swept  into  the  room  like  a  thunderstorm,  and  stood  there 
discharging  electric  bolts  upon  the  head  of  Mary's  lover.  At 
last  John  managed  to  stammer  out : 

"Lucy,  what  brings  you  here.  I  thought  you  were  in 
Elko?" 

Before  she  could  reply,  Mary  rose,  and  passing  between 
them,  laid  her  hand  upon  John's  shoulder,  and  confronted  the 
enraged  girl.  She  had  ceased  to  cry,  and  there  was  a  firmness 
in  her  face  which  Henry  Broome  had  thought  foreign  to  her 
character.  She  did  not  look  at  her  lover,  but  she  kept  her  hand 


MIDDLE    GROUND.  39 

on  his  shoulder,  pressing  it  lightly,  as  she  addressed  the  new 
comer : 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  what  do  you  want  here  ?  This  is  my  be- 
trothed husband.  We  have  been  engaged  for  years.  He  loves 
me ;  yes,  he  loves  me  better  than  you,  for  all  your  fiery  eyes, 
and  black  hair,  and  pretty  figure.  I  am  to  be  his  wife,  not  you. 
What  do  you  want  here  ?" 

The  girl  whomJTohn  had  addressed  as  Lucy,  stepped  back 
and  flushed  deeply,  as  Mary  spoke.  She  was  on  the  point  of 
speaking,  when  Mary  raised  her  hand  to  stay  her,  and  resumed  : 

"  Not  yet !  Wait  a  little,  until  I  have  done.  I  know  my 
dear  would  not  have  forgotten  me — no,  not  for  a  moment — un- 
less he  had  been  tempted.  I  know  he  never  would  have  suffered 
another  to  take  my  place — no,  not  for  a  moment — unless  that 
other  had  abused  her  opportunities.  I  know  that  you  knew  he 
was  engaged,  and  that  you  set  a  snare  for  his  feet,  in  the  vanity 
and  pride  of  your  heart." 

The  little  hand  that  rested  on  John's  shoulder  trembled,  but 
she  would  not  give  way.  Was  she  not  battling  for  all  that  was 
dear  to  her  ?  Was  she  not  confronting  the  great  crisis  of  her 
life  ?  She  continued  : 

"  No ;  not  yet.  I  have  more  to  say.  You  thought  you  could 
win  my  dear  away  from  me,  with  your  great  wild  eyes.  You 
thought  you  could  break  the  heart  of  the  silly  little  thing  in  the 
East  who  was  engaged  to  him.  But  you  never  loved  him 
truly — do  not  speak — I  see  it  in  your  eyes ;  I  read  it  in  your 
looks ;  I  know  it  by  your  bitter  anger,  which  is  wounded  vanity, 
not  love ;  and  I  tell  you  that  you  shall  not  have  your  way. 
You  shall  not  break  my  heart  or  his !" 

While  she  thus  spoke,  not  loudly  or  with  excitement,  but 
earnestly  and  sweetly,  Lucy  remained  gazing  at  her,  glancing 
now  and  then  at  John,  who  sat  with  his  head  bowed  down  and 
buried  in  his  hands. 

When  Mary  ceased  speaking,  the  other  girl  stood  silent  a 
moment,  the  color  coming  and  going  upon  her  cheeks,  the  light 
rising  and  fading  in  her  eyes.  It  was  plain  to  be  seen  that  a 
great  struggle  was  going  on  in  her  mind.  It  was  plain  to  be 
seen  that  her  good  and  evil  genii  were  contending  for  the  mas- 


40  MIDDLE   GROUND. 

tery.  It  was  plain  to  be  seen  in  the  dark  clouds  that  passed 
over  her  face,  and  in  the  softened  expression  that  alternated 
with  them.  She  looked  at  Mary,  and  the  hardness  of  her  gaze 
melted.  She  glanced  at  John's  bowed  head,  and  her  lips  closed 
cruelly.  Three  times  she  opened  her  mouth  to  speak,  and  as 
often  the  words  died  away  unuttered.  At  length  she  said,  in  a 
constrained,  unnatural  voice  : 

"  Ask  him  !     Let  him  speak  for  himself." 

At  this  appeal,  John  Rutter  shuddered,  and  plucking  his 
hands  from  his  face,  rose  and  faced  her,  catching  and  retaining 
Mary's  hand  as  he  did  so.  He  was  very  pale  and  haggard.  He 
seemed  to  have  grown  ten  years  older  in  the  last  few  minutes. 
There  were  deep  lines  about  his  mouth  and  eyes,  and  his  features 
looked  drawn  and  pinched,  like  those  of  one  who  has  just  passed 
through  a  long  and  severe  illness.  When  he  essayed  to  speak 
his  lips  were  so  dry  that  he  was  compelled  to  moisten  them 
before  he  could  proceed.  When  he  began  to  speak  he  looked 
neither  at  Mary  nor  Lucy,  but  kept  his  eyes  bent  upon  the 
ground  at  his  feet.  And  this  is  what  he  said  : 

"I  have  nothing  to  urge  in  my  defense-  Mary,  I  have 
wronged  you  cruelly ;  but,  Mary,  you  have  wronged  her.  You 
were  absent,  and  I  was  foolish.  I  don't  think — that  is,  I  did  not 
tell  her — that  1  was  engaged  to  you.  But  I  never  thought  she 
(it  was  noticeable  that  he  never  spoke  of  Lucy  directly)  cared 
tor  me  much.  I  never  thought  seriously  about  it,  indeed.  We 
were  thrown  together,  and — and — I  was — no,  I  won't  say  I  was 
fascinated,  for  I  went  into  the  business  with  my  eyes  open.  I 
didn't  think  it  would  ever  come  to  this.  I  didn't  think  it  would 
Come  to  anything — till  I  found  that  I  had  gone  further  than  I 
ought  to  have  gone,  and  that  you  were  on  your  way  here." 

There  was  a  painful  silence,  and  then  Mary,  now  pale  as  her 
rival,  and  with,  oh,  such  a  look  of  wretchedness  and  pain  on 
her  sweet  face,  gently  disengaged  her  hand  from  his  and 
resumed : 

"  Don't  stop  there,  John.  Tell  me  all.  Tell  me  the  worst  at 
once." 

John  gave  a  great  gasp,  and  for  the  first  time  time  looked 
full  at  Lucy.  He  hesitated,  but  was  about  to  resume  his  con- 


MIDDLE    GROUND.  41 

fession,  with  such  an  expression  as  a  man  on  the  rack  might 
wear,  when  Lucy,  who  had  been  studying  his  face  attentively, 
cried  : 

"  Hold  !  You  have  sinned,  and  are  punished.  I  have  trusted, 
and  am  punished.  Perhaps  I  also  sinned.  But  I  am  alone,  and 
can  live  alone.  When  I  am  gone  you  two  will  outlive  this  bit- 
terness. I  will  not  interfere  between  you." 

She  stopped,  struggled  again  with  herself,  and  resumed,  in  a 
low,  sad  tone : 

"  He  never  loved  me.  It  was  but  a  foolish  flirtation,  and 
none  but  a  wild  creature  such  as  I  am  would  have  made  this 
trouble.  His  heart  has  always  been  yours,  and  always  will  be 
Forget  that  this  has  happened,  and  let  all  be  as  though  I  had 
not  intruded  here." 

She  turned,  and  moved  to  the  door.  Eeaching  it,  she  looked 
back  over  her  shoulder  at  the  two  lovers,  who  stood  a  little 
apart,  pale,  silent,  and  perplexed;  and  in  that  look  Henry 
Broome  read  the  extent  of  her  sacrifice,  and  his  spirit  went 
forth  toward  the  woman  who  had  offered  up  her  own  life-happi- 
ness upon  the  altar  of  her  noble  love. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

THE   CUP  AND   THE   LIP. 

Everybody  who  travels  at  all  knows  the  thriving  little  town 
of  Shoo  Fly,  in  Nevada.  Perhaps  they  may  not  recognize  it 
under  that  name,  but  the  place  itself  would  be  the  same  no 
matter  what  you  called  it ;  and  when  it  has  been  described 
none  will  hesitate  for  a  moment  as  to  which  town  is  meant. 
There  are  a  great  many  new  towns  on  the  line  of  the  railroad ; 
mushroom  cities  that  seem  to  have  sprung  up  from  the  crumbs 
dropped  by  the  boarding  cars  of  the  construction  trains,  and 
which  took  their  chances  on  the  wisdom  of  location  and  the 
advantages  of  surroundings.  Some  of  these  flourished  for  a  few 
weeks  or  months,  became  conceited  and  saucy,  erected  a  huge 


42  MIDDLE   GROUND. 

caravanserai  and  a  huge  feed  store,  and  then  rapidly  declined 
and  became  pitiable  and  melancholy  deserts  of  lumber  and  can- 
vas. 

But  Shoo  Fly  was  not  one  of  these  ephemeral  growths.  It 
was  so  long  established  that  the  shingles  on  the  roofs  had  be- 
gun to  turn  grey  and  slate-colored,  and  the  citizens  could  boast 
(as  they  did  with  pardonable  pride)  that  they  possessed  a  baby 
whose  mother  had  been  married  in  the  town.  This  fact  always 
acted  as  a  crusher  upon  the  pretensions  of  the  people  of  other 
and  neighboring  burghs,  for  you  see  it  was  one  of  those  stub- 
born things  which  no  amount  of  emulation  would  enable  them 
to  rival,  much  less  surpass  \  and  knowing  this,  the  people  of 
Shoo  Fly  perhaps  presumed  somewhat  on  their  good  fortune. 

Shoo  Fly  was  well  situated,  near  a  fine  river,  and  not  far 
from  an  abundance  of  timber.  There  were  mineral  dis- 
tricts of  much  promise  within  easy  access,  and  a  lively  trade 
was  established  already,  with  a  rapidly  settling  farming  coun- 
try on  the  one  side,  a  rapidly  developing  mining  country  on 
another  side,  and  a  rapidly  building  railroad  country  on  a  third 
side.  On  the  whole,  Shoo  Fly  might  fairly  be  styled  a  thriving 
place,  and  possessing,  moreover,  the  gravity  and  weight  which 
age  gives  (it  was  within  a  week  of  being  a  twelvemonth  old) 
was  naturally  looked  up  to  by  its  neighbors. 

Its  exterior  and  material  aspect  was  plain,  not  ornamental . 
One  street,  two  dozen  stores,  two  wooden  hotels,  two  livery 
stables,  six  saloons,  and  a  round  house  and  machine  shop  be- 
longing to  the  railway,  about  completed  the  picture.  But  Shoo 
Fly  had  two  aspects :  its  railroad  aspect  and  its  stage  aspect. 
The  first  was  commonplace  and  tame.  Everybody  knows  it. 
A  wooden  platform,  a  hurry  and  bustle,  a  clanging  and  whis- 
tling, and  wheezing,  a  smell  of  oil,  and  a  pervading  sensation  of 
cinders,  a  rapid  freight  clerk,  a  stern  ticket  clerk,  a  clicking  tel- 
egraph clerk,  a  bawling  roadmaster. 

The  stage  aspect  was  different.  You  passed  down  a  little 
street,  about  six  yards  long,  and  came  upon  the  stage  office  at 
the  back  of  the  town.  You  turned  a  corner,  and  there  was  a 
dining  saloon,  always  filled  at  train  time  with  a  hungry  crowd, 
either  just  about  to  leave  by  the  train,  having  come  in  by  the 


MIDDLE   GROUND.  43 

stage,  or  just  about  to  leave  by  the  stage,  having  como  in  by 
the  train.  There  was  a  peculiarity  about  the  stage  passengers 
never  noticeable  in  the  train  passengers.  Trains  have  a  level- 
ing tendency.  They  repress  individuality  and  stifle  the  exhibi- 
tion of  idiosyncracies.  Everybody  feels  just  the  same  when 
traveling  by  a  train.  The  same  general  griminess,  the  same  lia- 
bility to  attract  cinders  in  the  eyes,  the  same  tendency  to  ex- 
aggerate the  angularity  of  the  seats,  the  same  sleepiness  and 
the  same  inability  to  sleep,  affect  everybody. 

But  on  the  stages  at  Shoo  Fly  it  was  not  so.  Those  stages — 
great  clumsy,  red  vehicles,  with  dusty  leather  curtains  in  place 
of  windows,  and  the  most  horribly  uncomfortable  internal  ar- 
rangements— went  far  out  into  the  wild  parts  of  the  country. 
Some  of  them  climbed  high  into  the  mountains,  amid  snow  and 
ice;  some  of  them  traversed  the  dreary  alkali  plains,  where 
smothering  heat  arid  dust  made  journeying  a  torture,  and 
where  the  sand  and  sage  brush  extend  for  melancholy  miles 
on  miles,  barren,  desolate  and  depressing.  And  the  passengers 
were  queer  looking  customers.  Here  would  be  one  wrapped  in 
a  huge  blanket  coat,  and  wearing  great  boots  reaching  to  the 
thighs.  There  would  be  another,  buttoned  up  close  in  ample 
linen  duster,  with  auxiliary  pocket  handkerchief  tied  loosely 
about  the  neck,  and  hat  slouched  over  so  as  to  "  shed "  the 
sand  and  dust.  There  were  miners,  and  farmers,  and  graziers, 
and  lawyers,  and  gamblers,  and  laborers,  and  mill  men,  and  dro- 
vers, and  engineers,  and  a  very  few  women,  who  always  ruled 
the  stage  passengers  with  an  absolute  sway,  and  did  with  every- 
body (except  the  driver)  pretty  much  as  they  pleased.  Some 
of  the  passengers  have  Henry  or  Spencer  rifles  with  them,  and 
look  as  though  they  knew  how  to  use  them. 

At  times  the  stages  in  certain  quarters  run  (or  have  run) 
risks  from  Indians.  In  other  quarters  they  run  (or  have  run) 
risks  from  road  agents.  In  the  former  case  they  generally  give 
a  good  account  of  the  aggressors.  In  the  latter  case  the  ag- 
gressors generally  give  a  good  account  of  them.  The  reason  of 
this  is  that  Indians  seek  scalps ;  road  agents  merely  treasure 
boxes.  The  drivers  do  not  consider  themselves  bound  to  fight 
for  the  company's  property,  but  they  need  no  persuasion  to  in- 


44  MIDDLE    GROUND. 

duce  them  to  fight  for  their  own  lives.  The  passengers  regard 
the  matter  in  much  the  same  light,  and  the  result  is  that  the 
road  agents  thrive  while  the  Indians  do  not.  So  much  for  phi- 
losophy and  prudence. 

The  stages  left  Shoo  Fly  sometimes  twice  and  sometimes 
three  times  a  day.  But  whether  they  left  twice  or  twenty 
times  there  would  always  have  been  found  a  sufficient  number 
of  citizens  to  constitute  the  knot  of  spectators  that  watched 
each  vehicle's  departure,  and  stood  looking  silently  after  it  until 
it  disappeared,  with  a  solemn  and  reflective  gaze. 

Such  were  the  principal  outward  features  of  interest  in  Shoo 
Fly.  Of  its  inner  life — its  social  position — much  might  be 
said.  Shoo  Fly  was  respectable  and  progressive.  It  had  its 
weaknesses — its  faro  bank  or  two — and  its  other  headquarters 
of  dissipation.  But  it  permitted  no  rowdyism,  and  the  men  who 
had  tried  to  bully  Shoo  Fly,  or  commit  any  disorderly  acts 
within  its  limits,  would  have  taken  a  greater  risk  than  most 
men  care  to  encounter.  The  Shoo  Fly  people  were  practical 
and  full  of  business.  They  were  warm-hearted,  hospitable  and 
generous.  They  were  rough  and  straightforward  in  their  ways, 
fond  of  poker,  not  averse  to  whisky  toddies,  addicted  to  cigars ; 
but,  take  them  altogether,  perhaps  as  jovial,  honest,  whole- 
souled  a  little  community  as  an  energetic  man  need  wish  to  set- 
tle among. 

At  this  particular  period  Shoo  Fly  was  considerably  excited 
over  a  brand-new  sensation,  and  the  male  population  was  dis- 
cussing the  affair  with  much  gusto,  though  with  a  kind  of  nat- 
ural gravity,  too.  Stealing  cattle  was  not  of  itself  a  novelty. 
There  was  a  fair  grazing  country  in  the  valley  that  lay  to  the 
right  of  the  town,  and  c&ttl&Jiad  vanished  thence  before.  But 
never  before  had  a  woman  been  caught  stealing  cattle,  and  this 
it  was  that  so  excited  Shoo  Fly. 

The  long  and  short  of  it  was  that  Lucy  Draper  had  been 
arrested  in  the  act  of  driving  off  a  band  of  cattle,  and  that  she 
was  to  be  tried  for  the  offense.  Now,  Lucy  Draper  was  in  some 
sort  a  popular  institution,  and  was  regarded  by  Shoo  Fly  and 
the  whole  country  round  about  with  a  feeling  very  near  akin  to 
universal  admiration.  Lucy  was  young  and  handsome.  She 


MIDDLE    GROUND.  45 

owned  a  ranch  in  a  fertile  valley.  She  lived  alone,  or  at  least 
without  other  company  than  an  old  female  servant.  She  was  a 
daring  horsewoman,  a  dead  shot  with  gun,  revolver  and  rifle, 
an  intrepid  huntress,  a  fluent  talker,  and  a  scorner  of  all  con- 
ventional usages.  She  had  lived  in  the  valley  for  several  years, 
and  everybody  knew  her  for  miles  around,  though  nobody  un- 
derstood her.  The  women  abused  her  mercilessly,  but  the  men 
liked  her,  and  did  not  mind  saying  so.  She  had  been  in 
many  scrapes,  and,  to  say  the  truth,  had  more  than  once  made 
the  acquaintance  of  the  District  Attorney.  But  with  all  her 
wildness  nobody  had  a  word  to  say  against  her  reputation  as  a 
woman,  and  she  was  looked  upon  generally  as  a  social  puzzle. 
This,  however,  was  the  wildest  and  worst  undertaking  she  had 
yet  ventured  upon,  and  consequently  the  excitement  was  con- 
siderable. It  was,  indeed,  remarked  that  since  her  return  from 
that  trip  on  the  railroad  East,  she  had  been  much  more  eccen- 
tric and  reckless  than  before,  and  some  of  the  older  inhabit- 
ants had  ventured  to  expostulate  with  her,  though  unavailingly. 
Had  she  been  a  man  there  can  be  no  question  that  it  would 
have  gone  hard  with  her,  for  cattle  stealing  was  a  capital 
offense  in  the  eyes  of  the  people  of  this  region.  But,  being 
what  she  was,  her  crime  was  regarded  rather  as  a  comical  es- 
capade than  as  a  serious  matter,  and  the  occasion  of*  the  trial 
became  quite  an  excuse  for  a  holiday. 

The  knots  that  assembled  around  the  Court  House,  and  the 
express  office,  and  the  railroad  depot,  were  all  discussing  this 
subject.  At  one  place  the  express  agent  was  narrating  the  his- 
tory of  her  famous  ball,  to  which  she  had  invited  all  the  settlers 
for  twenty  miles  around,  ran  in  debt  for  the  entertainment,  and 
when  her  favorite  mare  was  attached  by  the  Sheriff,  stole  it  out 
of  the  stable  at  night,  leaped  a  six-foot  fence,  and  distanced  her 
pursuers  gallantly.  At  another  place  an  eager  group  were  lis- 
tening to  the  story  of  her  shooting  exploits — the  most  notable 
of  which  was  the  discomfiture  of  a  rowdy  who  had  mistaken  her 
character,  and  meeting  her  alone  on  horseback  one  day  had 
offered  to  insult  her.  She  had  put  a  ball  through  his  right  arm, 
knocked  him  off  his  horse  with  the  butt  of  her  pistol,  and  seized 
his  steed  as  spoils  of  war.  Another  time,  when  a  party  of  gay 


46  MIDDLE    GROUND. 

young  fellows  conspired  to  make  her  "  tight,"  thinking  she 
could  not  stand  liquor,  she  drank  them  all  into  helplessness, 
tied  them  in  their  chairs,  blackened  their  faces,  and  so  left 
them — to  be  the  butts  of  the  whole  district  forever  after. 

These  stories  might  have  been  continued  indefinitely,  but  for 
the  fact  that  the  time  for  the  Court  to  open  had  arrived,  and  as 
this  event  was  what  everybody  had  been  waiting  for,  the  good 
people  of  Shoo  Fly  trooped  off  to  the  Court  House  to  enjoy  the 
proceedings. 

There  was  an  additional  source  of  interest  in  the  fact  that 
a  new  lawyer  was  to  undertake  Lucy's  defense.  He  was  a 
young  man,  had  riot  been  long  in  the  neighborhood,  but  had 
made  many  friends  by  his  genial  ways  and  his  knowledge  of 
poker.  His  name  was  Broome,  and  rumor  said  that  he  was 
sweet  upon  his  fair  client,  who  certainly  treated  him  with  more 
consideration  and  regard  than  she  showed  to  any  of  the  young 
men  of  the  district. 

When  the  prisoner  entered  the  Court  there  was  a  loud  buzz 
of  curiosity  and  admiration.  She  was  dressed  in  black,  and 
looked  very  quiet  and  demure.  Her  heavily-fringed  eyelids 
were  cast  modestly  down,  her  black  hair  was  arranged  neatly 
under  a  sober  little  hat,  and  she  certainly  looked  as  little  like  a 
desperate*character  as  could  well  be  imagined. 

The  jury  were  empaneled,  Mr.  Broome  making  very  few 
challenges,  and  the  Prosecuting  Attorney  arose  to  state  the  case. 
It  was  very  plain,  and  he  felt  assured  of  a  conviction.  The 
prisoner  had  been  caught  in  the  act  of  driving  a  band  of  cattle 
belonging  to  Abijah  Jones,  and  had  attempted  to  resist  the 
officers.  He  would  be  able  to  show  that  the  defendant  was  a 
person  of  bad  character  (a  murmur  of  dissent  in  the  Court)  and 
he  should  press  for  a  summary  conviction. 

Then  the  witnesses  were  called.  Abijah  Jones,  the  owner  of 
the  stolen  cattle,  unfortunately  for  himself  bore  the  character  of 
a  disagreeable  old  curmudgeon.-  He  was  prosperous  but  penu- 
rious. Old  and  ugly ;  mean  looking  and  spiteful  looking.  He 
did  not  impress  the  jury  at  all  favorably,  but  his  evidence  was 
incontrovertible,  and  cross-examination  failed  to  shake  him. 

Then  the  Deputy  Sheriff,  who  had  arrested  Lucy,  was  exam- 


MIDDLE   GROUND.  47 

ined,  and  testified  to  having  found  her  riding  in  the  rear  of  the 
cattle,  and  to  her  defiance  of  the  law,  which  was  carried  even 
so  far  as  the  drawing  of  a  pistol  on  him.  This  looked  grave, 
and  the  jury  were  compelled  to  take  a  glance  at  the  defendant 
Her  demure  and  innocent  aspect  evidently  refreshed  them  much, 
and  they  smiled  pityingly  on  the  Deputy  Sheriff.  Mr.  Broome 
declined  to  ask  the  witness  any  questions,  and  one  or  two  others 
having  been  examined,  the  Prosecuting  Attorney  said  that  was 
his  case. 

Then  there  was  a  buzz,  hushed  suddenly  as  the  young  lawyer 
rose  and  prepared  to  address  the  jury  for  the  defense. 

He  commenced  by  drawing  a  vivid  picture  of  a  western 
homestead.  He  represented  a  happy  and  united  family,  pros- 
pering by  their  own  exertions,  and  respected  by  their  neighbors. 
Then  he  showed  how  unexpected  troubles  came  upon  this  family. 
How  sickness  struck  down  the  children  one  after  the  other; 
how  droughts,  and  floods,  and  vermin  ruined  the  crops,  and 
wasted  the  land;  how  at  length  the  head  of  the  family  was  com- 
pelled to  throw  up  his  old  homestead ;  and  how  they  set  forth 
on  a  long  journey  to  the  far  West.  He  described  the  perils  and 
privations  of  that  journey  across  the  Plains.  He  appealed  to 
the  experience  of  the  jury,  many,  perhaps  most,  of  whom,  had 
passed  through  the  same  dangers.  He  told  how  the  travellers 
had  camped,  one  fatal  night,  near  a  certain  ford,  and  how  the 
cruel  Indians  had  swept  down  upon  them  at  daylight,  and  had 
murdered  the  emigrants — all  save  two,  one  of  whom  was  the 
prisoner,  and  the  other  a  sorely  wounded  man,  who  possessed 
just  strength  enough  to  carry  his  little  charge  out  of  danger, 
and  then  sank  and  died.  He  narrated  how  this  orphan  child 
had  been  found  by  strangers,  who  brought  her  on  with  them. 
He  painted  the  loneliness  of  her  childhood ;  the  lack  of  a  mother's 
advice  and  a  father's  vigilance.  He  showed  how  the  native 
independence  of  the  girl  had  rebelled  against  her  condition; 
how  her  high  spirit  had  chafed  against  the  tyranny  of  strangers, 
who  made  a  reproach  of  her  misfortunes,  and  treated  her  as  a 
bond-servant.  He  dwelt  eloquently  upon  the  difficulties  that 
had  surrounded^ her ;  called -the  attention  of  the  jury  to  the 
beauty  with  which  nature  had  endowed  her;  spoke  of  the  temp- 


48  MIDDLE   GROUND. 

tations  which  beset  a  girl  without  relatives  to  help  her ;  com- 
mented on  the  brave  spirit  she  had  shown  in  determining  to 
earn  her  own  living  on  her  own  land;  and  concluded  by  an  ap- 
peal to  the  chivalry  and  humanity  of  the  jury,  which  called 
forth  a  storm  of  applause. 

When  he  sat  down  Henry  Broome  had  said  simply  nothing 
in  relation  to  the  cattle  stealing ;  but  he  had  gained  his  point- 
The  Prosecuting  Attorney  (whose  heart  was  not  in  the  case) 
glanced  at  the  jury,  smiled,  and  declined  to  reply. 

The  judge  summed  up  briefly,  stating  that  the  case  was  very 
clear,  and  that  the  jury  could  not  hesitate  as  to  their  decision. 

The  jury  retired,  whispered  together  for  a  few  minutes,  and 
then  declared  that  they  were  agreed. 

The  verdict,  cheerfully  delivered  by  the  foreman,  as  an 
opinion  which  did  credit  alike  to  the  hearts  and  the  heads 
of  himself  and  his  fellows,  was — "Not  Guilty  !" 

It  is  true  that  this  decision  was  in  direct  opposition  to  the 
evidence,  and  in  defiance  of  the  law  governing  the  case.  But  it 
was  received  with  rapture  by  the  people  who  filled  the  Court, 
and  cheer  after  cheer  resounded  as  they  filed  into  the  open  air, 
and  shook  hands  with  the  successful  counsel,  and  Lucy,  and 
each  other,  with  as  much  inward  satisfaction  and  actual  joy  as 
though  they  had  all  been  running  for  Congress,  and  had  all 
been  elected  by  immense  majorities. 

Harry  Broome  was  the  hero  of  the  hour,  and  received  the 
earnest  congratulations  of  all  Shoo  Fly.  Even  Bill  Burke,  the 
blacksmith,  who  was  the  strongest  man  in  the  place,  and  was 
so  terribly  hen-pecked  by  his  mite  of  a  wife  that  he  never  dared 
to  call  his  soul  his  own,  was  so  exhilarated  that  he  actually 
asked  Harry  to  come  and  dine  with  him — and  immediately 
after  stood  appalled  at  the  magnitude  of  his  daring.  But  the 
sweetest  triumph  for  Harry  was  when  Lucy  approached  him, 
and  laying  her  hand  upon  his  arm  thanked  him,  with  tears  in 
her  eyes.  Lucy  was  not  one  of  your  crying  women,  and  even 
on  this  occasion  it  seemed  to  Harry  that  in  the  look  she  gave 
him  there  was  more  of  a  tender  pity  for  himself  than  gladness 
for  her  own  escape.  Yet  it  made  him  very  happy,  for  to  tell 


MIDDLE   GROUND.  49 

the  truth,  he  had  received  little  encouragement  heretofore  from 
her. 

When  she  left  Ogden,  after  that  stormy  scene,  he  had  fol- 
lowed her,  scarcely  knowing  or  caring  why.  It  was  a  case  of 
love  at  first  sight ;  a  kind  of  love  much  more  common  than  is 
generally  believed,  and  much  more  lasting  than  many  other 
kinds  of  love.  After  what  had  passed,  she  could  not  treat  him 
as  a  stranger,  for  he  had  become  acquainted  with  her  secret. 
But  though  she  soon  grew  to  like  him,  and  to  take  pleasure  in 
his  company,  and  though  she  used  her  influence  to  persuade 
him  into  abandoning  his  wild,  useless  life,  she  would  hold  out 
no  hope  to  him.  With  instinctive  delicacy  he  refrained  from 
alluding  to  the  past,  trusting  that  Time  would  heal  lier  heart- 
wounds,  and  being  content  to  keep  himself  before  her  as  much 
as  possible.  He  had  been  bred  to  the  law  in  the  East,  but  had 
early  acquired  a  distaste  for  the  profession,  and  a  quarrel  with 
his  family  had  set  him  adrift,  to  wander  aimlessly  on  the  fron- 
tiers, and,  to  pick  up  much  more  evil  than  good.  This  girl,  wild 
though  she  was,  disliked  wildness  in  others.  She  saw  that 
there  was  a  foundation  of  energy  and  sound  sense  in  young 
Broome,  and  she  urged  him  to  make  a  better  use  of  his  time. 
He  would  have  done  anything  she  told  him  to  do,  so  settled 
quietly  down  in  Shoo  J^ly  and  burnished  up  his  early  reminis- 
cences of  law  practice,  with  what  result,  so  far  as  Lucy  was 
concerned,  has  already  appeared. 

Harry  helped  the  late  prisoner  on  her  horse,  and  she  rode 
off  to  her  ranch.  He  looked  after  her  as  long  as  she  was  visi- 
ble, and  then  walked  over  to  his  little  office,  and  lighting  a 
cigar  sat  down  to  ponder.  He  had  made  an  important  step,  he 
thought.  The  ground  was  well  broken,  and  the  future  was  less 
difficult.  He  had  no  fears  for  Lucy,  for  wild  as  she  was,  he  felt 
confident  that  marriage  would  settle  her,  and  that  she  would 
make  a  good  wife.  As  for  himself,  be  had  given  up  all  his  old 
dissipated  habits,  and  had  already  obtained  the  reputation  of  a 
steady,  rising  young  fellow.  His  own  path  seemed  clear 
enough. 

Perhaps  he  would  not  have  felt  quite  so  confident  had  he 
observed  the  two  travelers  who  had  just  then  passed  his  office, 


50  MIDDLE   GROUND. 

and  turned  into  a  restaurant  hard  by.  They  were  travel- 
.stained,  dirty,  fatigued  looking  fellows,  and  sat  down  wearily 
and  called  for  food.  They  were  by  no  means  prepossessing  in 
appearance,  and  though  plenty  of  rough  characters  passed 
through  Shoo  Fly  every  day,  these  would  have  attracted  some- 
thing more  than  a  casual  glance  from  the  bright,  resolute  eyes 
of  the  active  citizen  who  officiated  as  Sheriff  of  the  county,  had 
he  happened  to  see  them.  One  of  these  men  was  tall,  burly, 
dark,  heavy-bearded.  The  other  was  small,  wiry,  yellow-faced, 
and  wore  a  straw-colored  goatee.  In  short,  the  two  men  were 
our  old-acquaintances,  Messrs.  Belto  and  Cobbins,  who  had  mi- 
raculously escaped  death  in  the  catastrophe  of  the  railroad 
bridge  (the  fortune  that  usually  attends  the  Devil's  Own  hav- 
ing attended  them  thus  far) — and  finding  Utah  too  warm  for 
them,  had  determined  to  try  their  luck  in  Nevada. 

The  restaurant  was  full  of  customers,  and  as  the  principal 
subject  of  conversation  was  the  trial  which  had  taken  place 
that  morning,  the  new  arrivals  soon  became  acquainted  with 
the  facts.  Neither  of  them  took  much  notice  of  the  comments 
which  were  freely  made  upon  the  power  and  ability  displayed 
by  the  young  lawyer.  They  were  naturally  prejudiced  against 
lawyers,  and  regarded  them  as  nuisances.  But  Mr.  Belto  was 
much  taken  with  the  story  of  Lucy  Draper,  and  asked  many 
questions  about  her  career  and  exploits,  which  latter  seemed  to 
amuse  him  greatly.  Taking  a  stroll  through  the  town  after 
dinner,  he  confided  to  his  partner  that  he  was  "  kinder  stuck 
arter  that  there  gal."  From  the  description  he  had  received 
he  was  inclined  to  believe  that  she  was  a  young  woman  after 
his  own  heart,  and  the  more  he  thought  of  the  matter  the  more 
impressed  did  he  become  with  a  desire  to  make  her  acquaint, 
ance.  Mr.  Cobbins,  never  addicted  to  sentiment  of  any  kind, 
paid  little  attention  to  the  other's  remarks,  being  mentally  en- 
gaged in  discussing  the  "  show  "  for  starting  a  little  game. 
He  had  already  satisfied  himself  that  the  customs  of  Kill-me- 
Quick  were  not  the  customs  of  Shoo  Fly,  and  that  caution  and 
circumspection  would  be  necessary  in  the  latter  place.  But  he 
still  hoped  that  something  might  be  made  out  of  the  visit,  and 
was  casting  about  in  his  mind  for  a  promising  project.  To  him, 
thus  occupied,  his  partner  spoke. 


MIDDLE   GROUND.  51 

"  Cobbins,"  said  he  thoughtfully,  "  a  gal  o'  that  sort'd  likely 
have  a  few  twenties  around  her  place.  Likewise  a  good  horse 
or  two.  Also  purvisions.  They  say  she  lives  all  alone  by  her- 
self, and  that  there's  nobody  round  but  an  old  woman,  or  some- 
thin'  o'  that  kind.  I've  more  than  half  a  mind  to  pay  her  a 
visit  to-night.  Wot  do  you  think  ?" 

"  Make  the  d — d  place  too  hot  to  hold  us,"  replied  Mr.  Cob- 
bins  sententiously. 

"  Who's  to  know  us,  you  flat  ?  We've  ori'y  been  here  a 
couple  of  hours  or  so,  and  not  more'n  half  a  dozen  has  set  eyes 

on  us.  Strikes  me  its  a  bully  lay-out,  and  I'm  if  I  don't 

do  it,  too  !" 

Thus,  with  a  smart  slap  upon  his  thigh,  did  Mr.  Belto  pro- 
claim that  his  mind  was  made  up  on  the  subject,  and  as  Mr. 
Cobbins  always  deferred  to  him,  as  the  more  daring  and  orig- 
inal in  his  conceptions,  and^  as  also  the  more  capable,  physi- 
cally, he  yielded  on  this  occasion,  after  a  brief  remonstrance,  to 
which  he  was  moved  more  by  a  reluctance  to  abandon  a  certain 
gambling  scheme  he  had  just  mapped  out,  than  from  any  ap- 
prehensions as  to  the  result  of  the  visit.  So  it  was  arranged 
that  they  should  call  on  Lucy  that  evening,  at  a  somewhat  later 
hour  than  ladies  usually  receive  company. 

Now  it  so  happened  that  Henry  Broome  had  determined 
upon  visiting  Lucy  this  evening  also,  and  as  her  place  was  only 
about  six  miles  from  Shoo  Fly,  he  rode  out  quietly  after  dinner, 
and  spent  a  couple  of  hours  with  her.  She  was  much  kinder 
to-night  than  she  had  ever  been  before,  and  as  they  sat  and 
talked  in  her  homely  little  parlor,  while  the  old  servant  mended 
stockings  in  a  corner  of  the  room,  (Lucy  insisting  on  her  pres- 
ence, with  a  prudent  regard  for  her  reputation),  Henry  was 
quite  happy,  and  more  hopeful  than  ever. 

Lucy's  conversation  was  not  at  all  like  Mary  Sheldon's.  She 
possessed  a  vigorous  intellect,  and  though  it  had  been  little  cul- 
tivated her  thoughts  were  original  and  daring,  and  her  expres- 
sion confident  and  easy.  Henry  could  talk  to  her  freely  about 
his  affairs;  could  expostulate  with  her  on  her  recklessness; 
could  speak  plainly  with  her  about  her  peculiar  ideas  of  the 
rights  of  property;  and  was  never  afraid  of  offending  her  by 


52  MIDDLE   GROUND. 

his  plainness,  or  of  getting  beyond  her  capacity  on  any  sub- 
ject. She  admired  him  for  his  candor,  good  sense,  and  strength 
of  mind.  She  liked  him  for  his  freedom  from  that  snickering 
spooniness  which  afflicted  most  of  the  young  men  when  in  her 
presence.  But  she  had  not  yet  recovered  from  the  shock  of  her 
parting  with  John  Rutter,  though  she  had  resolutely  deter- 
mined to  crush  the  memory  of  him  from  out  her  heart. 

So  the  young  couple  sat  and  chatted  pleasantly,  yet  soberly, 
and  when  Harry  at  length  rose  to  take  his  leave  he  was  per- 
fectly satisfied  with  the  result  of  his  visit.  He  mounted  his 
horse,  lighted  a  cigar,  and  rode  slowly  homeward,  full  of  bright 
anticipations,  and  building  castles  in  the  air  at  an  astonishing 
rate.  He  might  have  been  in  the  saddle  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
or  so — he  never  could  tell  exactly  how  long  it  was,  he  had  been 
so  lost  in  thought — when  the  report  of  a  pistol  rang  upon  the 
night  air  and  startled  him  from  his  reverie.  The  sound  came 
from  the  direction  of  the  house  he  had  lett.  There  was  no 
other  dwelling  within  three  or  four  miles,  and  he  could  not, 
therefore,  be  mistaken.  Half-defined  fears  crowded  into  his 
mind  as  he  turned  his  horse's  head  and  galloped  back. 

When  he  left  Lucy  she  stood  on  the  porch,  watching  his  re_ 
ceding  form,  for  a  few  moments,  and  then  re-entered  the  house, 
and  seated  herself,  with  a  half-suppressed  sigh  of  weariness  and 
vexation.  She  found  the  crushing  out  process  harder  than  she 
had  contemplated.  The  attentions  and  the  presence  of  Harry  ? 
so  far  from  erasing  the  memory  of  the  past,  only  recalled  it 
more  vividly,  and  often  as  she  sat  with  him  fancy  would  re- 
place his  well  known  features  with  the  still  better  remembered 
lineaments  of  her  lost  love.  She  fought  against  it  bravely,  and 
it  was  because  she  fought  so  bravely  that  she  was  vexed  and 
distressed  to  find  how  slow  her  progress  was.  This  evening  she 
felt  strangely  downcast.  She  had  not  noticed  it  when  Harry 
was  present,  but  now  that  she  was  alone  again  her  isolation  im- 
pressed itself  on  her  more  than  ever  before.  Her  mind  re- 
verted to  the  scene  of  the  morning,  and  she  went  over  the  trial 
and  Harry's  speech,  and  the  verdict,  and  the  congratulations  of 
the  people,  again.  Somehow  she  experienced  no  sort  of  satis- 
faction from  her  acquittal.  She  began  to  despise  herself,  and  to 


MIDDLE   GROUND.  53 

feel  ashamed  of  her  wild  pranks  as  she  had  not  done  before. 
The  truth  was  that  Harry's  influence  was  making  itself  felt,  and 
the  first  step  to  reformation — dissatisfaction  with  the  existing 
state  of  things — was  being  made. 

She  was  suddenly  roused  from  her  brooding  by  a  scream  of 
mortal  fear  from  the  old  woman,  who  sat  near  the  door,  and 
looking  up  she  saw  the  servant's  eyes  fixed,  with  a  terrified  ex- 
pression, upon  a  man's  face  which  was  peering  in  through  the 
half-opened  portal.  It  was  an  ugly  and  a  villainous  face,  but  it 
did  not  frighten  Lucy.  She  sprang  at  once  for  her  pistol, 
which  lay,  ready  loaded,  on  the  mantel-piece;  but  at  the  same 
moment  the  door  of  the  back  room  opened  suddenly,  and  an- 
other man  appeared,  while  the  first  dashed  forward  toward 
her.  She  had  secured  her  pistol,  but  this  complication  of  the 
attack  confused  her,  and  her  first  shot  was  fired  almost  at  ran- 
dom. Before  she  could  cock  the  weapon  again  her  arms  were 
gripped  tightly  from  behind,  it  was  wrested  from  her,  and  she 
was  forced,  panting,  into  a  chair,  and  securely  bound  with 
cords.  The  old  servant  continuing  to  scream,  Mr.  Cobbins 
knocked  her  down  with  the  butt  of  the  pistol,  and  gagged  her. 
The  two  ruffians  then  turned  their  attention  to  Lucy,  who  now 
sat  still  and  composed,  looking  them  both  in  the  face  boldly 
and  sternly.  Mr.  Belto  eyed  her  with  undisguised  admiration. 

u  Mona'us  putty  gal ! "  he  observed  to  Mr.  Cobbins,  who  was 
already  instituting  a  search  into  the  resources  of  the  establish- 
ment; "mighty  handy  with  the  pistol,  too."  Then,  addressing 
Lucy,  conversationally :  u  And  so  you're  the  gal  as  corrals 
stock,  are  you  ?  Well !  now  !  ef  that  don't  beat  my  time  ! " 
and  he  gazed  at  his  captive  thoughtfully,  and  helped  himself  to 
a  chew  of  tobacco. 

Lucy  said  nothing,  but  her  eyes  flashed  in  a  way  that  would 
have  boded  no  good  to  Mr.  Belto  had  her  arms  been  free.  Mr. 
Cobbins  was  a  man  of  business,  and  here  interfered. 

"  Stow  that  d^-d  truck,  Belto,  and  help  me  go  through  the 
house.  Say,  you,"  addressing  Lucy  brutally,  "  where  in  the 
do  you  keep  your  dust  ?  " 


"  You  git  out,"  responded  Mr.  Belto,  coolly  pushin^ftis  com" 
panion  aside.     "  That  ain't  no  kind  o'  way  to  talk.     My  dear, 


54  MIDDLE   GROUND. 

we  are  hard  up,  and  wants  to  make  a  raise.  I  know  you 
wouldn't  refuse  to  help  us,  but  you'r  too  tired  to  get  about,  and 
we're  in  a  hurry.  Where  is  the  key  of  the  money  drawer,  eh  ?" 

Lucy  held  her  tongue.  Mr.  Cobbins  blasphemed.  Mr.  Belto 
began  to  "rile"  and  the  servant  began  to  recover  hep  senses. 

Just  at  this  moment  the  door  opened  again,  and  Harry 
Broome  entered  the  room. 

The  two  gamblers  raised  their  weapons  at  sight  of  him,  and 
were  about  to  fire  when  they  recognized  him,  simultaneously. 
Belto  uttered  a  furious  cry  and  his  companion  a  terrific  oath, 
and  both  sprang  upon  him,  by  one  consent.  He  had  not  time 
to  draw  his  pistol,  and  could  only  grapple  with  them.  There 
was  a  wild  struggle,  a  stifled  cursing  and  panting,  a  stamping 
and  blundering  here  and  there,  a  knocking  down  of  tables  and 
chairs,  and  then  Harry  lay  on  the  floor,  with  Mr.  Belto's  pow- 
erful knee  upon  his  breast,  and  Mr.  Belto's  powerful  hands  hold- 
ing his  arms  as  if  in  a  vice.  Mr.  Belto's  face  at  this  moment 
was  not  a  pleasant  sight  to  see.  It  was  the  face  of  a  triumphant 
fiend,  all  malignity  and  revenge,  and  cruelty,  and  sense  of 
power.  He  called  for  cords  and  bound  Harry  firmly.  Then  he 
rose,  looked  at  him  murderously,  drew  a  deep  breath  and  cocked 
his  revolver. 

"  So,  you  durn  skunk!"  he  said  then,  "you  thought  you'd 
got  away  with  Slaughterhouse  Jack,  did  you?  You  burned 
Kill-me-Quick,  did  you  ?  You  uncoupled  the  train,  and  thought 
you'd  sent  us  to  hell,  did  you  ?  Now  I'll  send  you  there !" 

It  was  evident  that  he  meant  murder.  Lucy  could  see  that 
in  his  eye,  and  so  could  Harry.  It  was  evident  that  he  only 
delayed  the  shot  for  the  pleasure  of  tantalizing  his  victim.  But 
Mr.  Cobbins  had  a  word  to  say  also,  and  that  word  was — "Aint 

you  a  fool,  Belto?  What  good  will  it  do  to  blow  that 

skunk's  head  off  now  ?  Bring  him  away  with  us,  and  I'll  show 
you  how  to  put  him  through." 

Mr.  Belto  looked  at  his  partner  for  a  moment  as  if  he  sus- 
pected him  of  an  intention  to  rob  him  of  his  prey;  but  there 
was  that  in  Mr.  Cobbins'  eyes  which  reassured  him,  and  he 
replied — u  Dunno  but  what  you're  right,  Cob.  Guess  we'll  put 
him  on  one  of  the  horses  and  take  him  along." 


MIDDLE   GROUND.  55 

Lucy  had  witnessed  the  unmistakable  hatred  evinced  by  the 
gamblers  toward  Harry,  with  amazement  and  perplexity.  It 
was  evident  that  they  knew  him,  and  that  they  had  some  old 
grudge  against  him;  and  it  was  also  evident  that  they  were 
bent  on  a  bloody  vengeance  now  they  had  him  in  their  hands. 
She  felt  that  all  hope  of  intercession  on  her  part  was  vain,  and 
yet  she  felt  impelled  to  make  an  effort.  "  Let  him  go,  you 
brutes,"  she  cried  passionately,  "you  are  welcome  to  all  you  can 
find  here.  But  if  you  harm  Mm  I'll  have  the  country  on  your 
track  before  daylight." 

Mr.  Cobbins  looked  ferociously  at  the  girl,  and  drew  his 
knife.  He  evidently  thought  her  threats  were  not  to  be  de- 
spised, and  that  the  best  way  to  avert  danger  was  to  silence 
her  effectually.  But  Belto  would  not  hear  of  this.  He  liked 
her  pluck,  and  he  cared  for  nothing  now  he  had  Harry  in  his 
power.  He  motioned  to  Cobbins  to  put  up  his  knife,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  haul  the  prisoner  to  his  feet,  preparatory  to  placing 
him  on  horseback. 

Harry  saw  Lucy's  danger  and  told  her  not  to  mind  him.  If 
the  fellows  killed  him  it  wouldn't  matter  much,  and  it  was  no 
use  making  a  fuss  over  what  couldn't  be  helped.  He  had  faced 
death  too  often  to  fear  it,  and  she  mustn't  fret. 

She  spoke  no  more.  She  only  exchanged  one  glance  with 
him  as  he  was  being  borne  to  the  door,  and  in  that  glance  he 
read  her  assurance  that  come  what  might,  he  would  be  avenged. 

The  gamblers  gagged  him,  set  him  on  his  own  horse,  and 
having  secured  some  provisions  from  the  house,  and  taken  what- 
ever of  value  they  could  find,  prepared  to  start.  When  they 
were  in  the  saddle,  Mr.  Cobbinw  delivered  his  farewell  thus — 

"You  can  tell  this  young  man's  friends,  ef  he's  got  any,  that 
we've  saved  them  the  expenses  of  a  funeral.  They  won't  see 
him  again,  unless  they  go  where  he'll  mighty  soon  be." 

With  that  ominous  parting  the  scene  closed.  The  tramp  of 
the  horses  rang  out  on  the  still  night,  growing  fainter  and 
fainter,  and  Lucy  sat,  bound  fast  to  her  chair,  gazing  into  the 
thick  darkness  through  the  open  doorway. 


56  MIDDLE   GROUND. 

CHAPTER    V. 

THE   FORTY-MILE  DESERT. 

The  sun  was  setting.  Seen  through  the  heated  atmosphere 
that  quivered  over  the  arid  plain  he  resembled  a  large  red-hot 
cannon  ball,  and  fancy  might  have  suggested  the  possibility  of 
his  setting  fire  to  the  range  of  hills  whose  uppermost  ridge  his 
lower  limb  was  touching.  The  scene  over  which  his  last  hot 
gleams  shot  was  a  dreary  and  depressing  scene.  Far  as  the 
eye  could  reach  extended  a  bleak  desert.  Low  hillocks  swelled 
at  intervals  along  the  horizon,  and  broke  the  flatness  of  the  ex- 
panse. But  no  tree,  nor  shrub,  nor  green  thing,  nor  human  be- 
ing, nor  dwelling  house  of  man,  nor  running  stream,  existed 
there.  It  was  the  Great  Desert  of  Nevada,  sometimes  known 
as  the  Forty-mile  Desert.  Alkali,  lava  and  sand ;  patches  of 
.sage  brush,  sickly  and  weak  of  growth,  scattered  here  and 
there ;  broad  stretches  of  bare,  hard  earth — and  that  was  all. 
The  midday  sun  had  been  pouring  his  rays  down  with  intoler- 
able fierceness  upon  the  naked  ground.  At  evening  the  ground 
gave  back  to  the  atmosphere  some  portion  of  its  superabundant 
heat,  and  the  plain  was  stifling  all  the  night.  Such  breezes  as 
ventured  to  cross  the  desert  were  speedily  robbed  of  their  cool- 
ness and  their  invigorating  qualities,  and  wandered  languidly 
and  feebly  at  last,  flushing  the  parched  cheek  of  the  traveler, 
and  scorching  like  blasts  from  the  throat  of  a  furnace.  No  liv- 
ing thing  made  the  desert  its  home.  Even  the  shrill  note  of 
the  cricket  was  not  heard  there,  and  the  active  cotton-tail  rab- 
bit fled  the  accursed  place. 

A  horrible  silence  hovered  over  the  desolate  region,  a  lurid 
gloom  was  settling  down  upon  it,  as  three  horsemen  left  the 
confines  of  the  fertile  lands  and  struck  out  into  the  plain.  The 
fine  alkali  dust  rose  in  suffocating  clouds  as  their  horses'  feet 
fell  noiselessly,  and  the  air  was  so  filled  with  this  dust  that  it 
penetrated  the  clothing,  the  eyes,  noses,  ears  and  mouths  of  the 
travelers,  and  caused  them  to  gasp  for  breath. 

Of  the  three  men  the  two  who  rode  on  the  outside  were 
conversing  at  intervals.  The  one  in  the  middle  sat  sullenly, 


MIDDLE   GROUND.  57 

with  his  head  on  his  breast,  and  was  silent.  A  closer  inspec- 
tion would  have  shown  that  the  silent  rider  was  a  captive,  for 
his  ankles  were  lashed  together  under  his  horse's  belly,  his 
hands  were  bound  in  front  of  him,  and  his  horse  was  being  led 
by  a  line  fastened  to  the  saddle-bow  of  the  taller  of  his  com- 
panions. 

They  rode  on  and  on,  into  the  desert  and  the  night.  The 
alkali  dust  hung  in  gray  clouds  upon  their  track,  and  settled 
very  slowly  after  they  had  passed.  Their  horses  coughed  and 
tossed  their  heads,  plainly  evincing  their  uneasiness  at  the  situ, 
ation.  The  sun  disappeared  behind  the  low  hills  in  the  dis- 
tance, and  a  burning  wind  crept  over  the  plain,  parching  the 
lips  of  the  riders  and  closing  the  pores  of  the  skin  as  with  the 
breath  of  fever.  v 

At  length  the  captive  raised  his  head  and  spoke. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  me,  you  two  ?" 

Mr.  Belto  referred  to  his  partner. 

"  What  are  we  going  to  do  with  him,  Cobbins?" 

Mr.  Cobbins  cleared  his  mouth  of  the  alkali  dust  as  well  as 
he  could,  and  replied  by  asking  a  question  in  his  turn. 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  of  Jack  Slade  ?  " 

"  I  have  heard  of  an  infernal  scoundrel  of  that  name,"  re- 
plied the  captive. 

Mr.  Cobbins  waved  away  the  epithet,  as  irrelevant,  and 
asked  again  : 

"  And  did  you  ever  hear  of  what  he  did  to  Jules  Berg  ?  " 

"No !"  was  the  reply. 

"Well,  then,  Fll  tell  you;  it'll  help  to  pass  away  the  time, 
and  it'll  may  be  serve  as  an  answer  to  your  question.  Mr. 
J&ck  Slade  was  a  Division  Superintendent  on  the  old  Overland 
Stage  Line.  A  mos'  peart  an'  lively  man  he  was,  and  stood  no 
back  talk  from  any  one.  He  was  all-fired  quick  with  the  pistol, 
and  had  taken  a  baker's  dozen  of  scalps  afore  he  met  Jules 
Berg.  Now,  Berg  was  one  o'  them  there  skunks  as  thinks  they 
has  a  right  to  interfere  everywhere — as  you  interfered  with  us, 

you ,  (blanjp  filled  to  suit  the  fancy),  and  Jack,  he  wasn't 

agoin'  to  put  up  with  such  goin's  on.  They  had  a  kind  of  ruc- 
tion once,  and  Jack  had  to  take  water;  but  he  never  forgot 


58  MIDDLE   GROUND. 

nothin'  and  he  just  had  it  in  for  that  Berg.  Well,  his  time  came 
around.  Some  on  his  pals,  they  got  Berg  off  to  a  quiet  station, 
by  a  plant,  and  they  sent  word  to  Slade  as  how  he  was  corraled. 
May  be  the  old  man  didn't  put  on  an  extra  stage  to  get  there. 
Oh,  no  !  Nor  he  didn't  drive  all  night,  so's  to  lose  no  time  ! 
Anyhow,  he  arrove  at  the  station,  and  there  he  found  that 
skunk  Berg  fixed  up  as  slick  as  could  be.  You  see  the  boys, 
knowin'  Jack  was  kinder  pressed  for  time,  had  got  things  all 
ready  aforehand,  and,  when  he  come,  there  was  Jules  tied  up  to 
a  post  in  the  corral,  as  handy  as  could  be.  Jack  eases  his  mind 
a  bit,  cussin'  him,  and  then  he  sets  to  and  shoots  him,  little  by 
little.  Jack  was  an  awful  good  shot,  and  could  put  the  balls 
just  where  he  wanted,  and  he'd  fire  a  bullet  through  Jules'  leg,  or 
arm,  or  shoulder,  or  wot  not,  and  cuss  'im  a  spell,  and  go  in  and 
take  a  drink  with  the  boys — there  was  quite  a  crowd  to  see  the 
sport — ancj  then  go  out  and  take  another  shot;  and  so  on. 
There's  no  denyin'  that  that  there  Jules  was  game,  for  he  wouldn't 
squeal,  though  he  was  fairly  riddled.  Jack  had  put  two  and 
twenty  balls  into  him  without  kiliin'  him,  and  might  ha'  kept 
the  game  up  longer,  on'y  he'd  taken  just 's  many  drinks  as  he 
fired  shots,  and  was  getting  mad  at  Jules'  not  sayin'  nothin', 
nor  screechin'.  So  at  last  he  goes  up  to  him,  and  after  kickin' 
him  about  a  bit,  and  cussin'  him  all  he  wanted,  he  puts  the  pis- 
tol in  his  mouth,  and  finishes  the  business.  He  kept  Jules'  ears 
as  a  sort  of  remembrancer,  an'  ef  ever  you  wanted  to  put  Jack 
in  a  good  humor  afterwards,  all  you  had  to  do  was  to  ask  him. 
to  tell  you  how  he  got  them  ears." 

Harry  Broome  showed  no  discomposure  as  Mr.  Cobbins  con- 
cluded this  revolting  story  (unhappily  true,  every  word  of  it), 
but  remarked  :  "  And  that's  the  kind  of  l  game '  you're  going  to 
play  with  me,  is  it?  "Well,  there's  one  consolation  :  I  was  on 
the  Vigilance  Committee  that  hanged  your  friend  Jack  Slade." 
Mr.  Cobbins  drew  a  deep  breath,  and  regarded  his  captive 
with  additional  fervency.  ** 

"  Oh/'  he  said,  pleasantly,  "  you  were,  were  you  ?  Well, 
now,  I'm  glad  to  know  that.  It  don't  make  itf  any  worse  for 
you,  cause  you  see  we  mean  to  make  it  about  as  rough  as 
rough  can  be,  anyhow.  But  its  a  comfort  to  know  that  we'll 


MIDDLE   GROUND.  59 

be  fulfillin'  a  dooty  as  well  as  enjoyin'  a  soothin'  pleasure  when 
we  help  you  to  hand  in  your  checks.  Stranger,  you're  a  dan- 
gerous carakter,  and  Society  cannot  put  up  with  you  no  longer !" 
With  this  protest  on  behalf  of  Society,  Mr.  Cobbins  relapsed 
into  silence,  and  the  three  men  rode  on,  and  on,  into  the  desert 
and  the  night. 

About  midnight  they  halted  to  take  a  few  hours'  rest  before 
entering  upon  the  business  of  the  morning.  The  captive  was 
informed  that  he  would  not  require  any  breakfast,  and  that  it 
was  not  worth  while  to  waste  a  supper  on  him,  as  he  would 
hardly  have  time  to  digest  it.  The  gamblers,  however,  were 
well  supplied  with  whisky,  and  had  also  some  crackers  -with 
them,  on  which  they  supped  with  much  apparent  satisfaction. 
The  horses  were  next  carefully  hobbled,  anjl  the  prisoner  being 
laid  on  his  back,  his  captors  took  their  stations  on  either  side 
of  him,  and  in  a  Few  minutes  fell  asleep.  »ANCR»FT  LJ BRAKY 

Harry,  in  spite  of  the  awful  nature  of  his  position,  felt 
drowsy.  He  was  fatigued  with  the  long  rid'e,  and  his  ankles  and 
wrists  were  chafed  and  sore.  He  did  not  wish  to  go  to  sleep, 
but  the  heat  and  the  fatigue,  and  the  heavy  breathing  of  the 
wretches  by  his  side,  combined  to  lull  him  into  a  feverish, 
dreamy  state.  For  perhaps  an  hour  he  lay  thus,  becoming 
wide  awake  at  intervals,  then  dropping  into  an  uneasy  slumber  ; 
but  gradually  the  drowsy  feeling  wore  off,  the  nervous  forces 
asserted  their  supremacy,  and  he  was  fully  roused. 

Then  he  began  to  think.  He  went  back  over  his  whole  past 
life  in  detail.  Through  childhood,  school  life,  college  life,  law 
office  life,  wild  frontier  life,  up  to  the  meeting  with  Mary  Shel- 
don. There  he  lingered  a  little,  wondering  how  she  got  on  with 
John,  and  whether  he  was  at  all  jealous  now.(  From  her  his 
mind  passed  naturally  to  Lucy,  and  he  recalled  his  first  meet- 
ing with  her,  and  her  passionate  agony,  and  his  sudden  admi- 
ration of  her.  From  that  his  memory  passed  to  Shoo  Fly,  and 
the  trial,  and  the  verdict,  and  he  wondered  how  those  jurymen 
would  feel  if  they  knew  the  young  lawyer  they  admired  so 
much  was  lying  out  on  the  desert  awaiting  a  cruel  and  violent 
death.  The  thought  of  death  caused  him  to  revert  to  the  story 
of  Jules  Berg,  and  he  began  to  consider  whether  Berg's  stoi- 


60  MIDDLE   GROUND. 

cism  was  real  or  whether  the  shooting  was  not  so  painful 
after  all.  He  remembered  having  read  that  men  on  the  battle- 
field who  were  killed  by  gunshot  wounds  always  looked  peace- 
ful and  quiet  after  death,  while  those  who  had  been  stabbed 
showed  the  traces  of  great  suffering  in  their  faces.  How  long 
would  it  take  to  kill  him  ?  And  was  there  not  a  chance  that 
they  might  do  it  by  accident  on  the  third  or  fourth  shot  ?  What 
would  become  of  his  body  ?  Would  it  lie  there  in  the  desert  till 
the  flesh  was  all  gone,  and  the  bones  were  bleached  and  white  ? 
And  would  there  be  any  search  made  for  him  ?  Would  Lucy — 
just  then  his  memory  sprang  with  a  bound  to  the  last  time  he 
had  seen  her,  and  he  recalled  the  eloquent  look  she  had  given 
him  as  she  sat  bound  in  her  chair,  and  they  were  taking  him 
out  of  the  door.  Of  course  she  would  raise  the  country.  But 
it  would  be  too  late.  They  would  never  track  his  murderers, 
and  if  they  found  what  was  left  of  him  it  would  only  be  to 
cause  additional  misery.  No  !  on  the  whole  it  was  better  that 
he  should  be  left  where  he  fell.  A  hot  gust  passed  over  his  face 
and  changed  the  current  of  his  thoughts.  Where  was  he  going  ? 
Was  there  another  world  ?  And  would  he  remember  his  old 
life  there  ?  Was  he  going  to  punishment  or  rest  ?  A  world  of 
shadows  or  a  world  of  existence  ?  Would  he  bound  at  once 
into  the  new  existence,  with  all  his  intelligence  alive,  or  would 
he  wake  as  a  new-born  child  wakes  here  ?  Would  death  come 
as  an  annihilator  or  as  an  illuminator  ?  As  the  Shadow  fell 
upon  him  would  he  begin  to  see  through  the  curtain  that  veils 
the  future  from  mortal  eyes,  and  commence  life  there  before  he 
had  quitted  life  here  ?  Would  he  be  able,  in  the  spirit  form,  to 
watch  over  Lucy — as  he  was  thinking  thus,  a  sound  caught  his 
ear. 

It  was  so  still  there  in  the  desert  that  the  faintest  noise  was 
instantly  audible.  He  had  heard  the  soft  tread  of  the  horses, 
muffled  by  the  yielding  soil,  but  the  sound  which  now  broke  the 
silence  was  different  from  that.  He  listened  intently,  all  his 
nerves  stretched  to  their  utmost  tension,  his  breath  coming 
short  and  quick.  It  was  but  a  faint  sound.  A  light,  regular 
beat,  falling  on  his  ear;  and  yet  he  knew  from  the  first  that  it 
was  an  important  sound  for  him.  Softly,  cautiously,  it  ap- 


MIDDLE   GROUND.  61 

preached.  He  could  not  raise  his  head,  nor  see  on  either  side 
of  him,  but  he  felt  that  it — whatever  it  was — was  guided  by 
some  strong  intelligence,  and  that  it  was  friendly  to  him. 
Softly,  stealthily  it  approached.  The  suspense  was  becoming 
intolerable,  and  he  closed  his  eyes.  But  he  could  not  keep  them 
closed,  and  when  he  looked  up  again  he  felt,  as  men  do  often 
feel,  that  some  one  was  near  him,  though  he  could  see  nothing. 
The  creeping  sound  had  ceased  for  a  moment.  Then  a  shadow 
fell  on  his  face,  and  a  warm  hand  glided  over  his  mouth. 

The  shadow  fell  darker,  he  glanced  upward — and  Lucy's 
eyes  were  looking  down  into  his,  in  the  dim  starlight. 

It  was  unnecessary  to  caution  him,  for  his  faculties  were  at 
once  under  full  control.  She  motioned  him  to  lie  still,  and  bent 
over  the  sleeping  man  on  his  right.  What  was  she  doing  ? 
She  remained  stooping  for  some  minutes,  and  while  she  was  in 
this  attitude  a  new  scent,  unlike  anything  he  had  distinguished 
in  the  desert,  became  apparent;  a  faint,  sickly,  drug-like  odor. 
Lucy  rose,  and  stepping  softly,  bent  over  the  man  lying  at  his 
left  hand.  Again  the  faint,  drug-like  odor  became  apparent ; 
again  the  girl  seemed  to  be  examining  the  sleeper  closely.  At 
length  she  arose,  and  throwing  off  all  her  caution  and  stealth, 
stepped  firmly  towards  him,  and  said  aloud  : 

"  Thank  God  !     You  are  saved  !" 

"  Hush  !"  he  whispered  in  alarm,  "  you  will  wake  them  !" 

She  laughed  unrestrainedly,  as  she  cut  the  cords  that  bound 
him. 

"  Before  they  wake,  Harry,  you  and  I  will  be  far  enough 
away.  I  have  given  them  a  sleeping  draught  that  will  keep 
them  from  interfering  with  us,  and  it  rests  with  you  whether 
they  shall  ever  wake  again." 

Harry  Broome  rose,  stiffly,  and  looked  about  him  as  a  man 
might  who  is  awakened  from  a  hideous  night-mare.  His  first 
impulse  was  to  make  sure  of  his  foes,  and  he  softly — even  then 
doubtful  of  the  soundness  of  their  sleep — withdrew  the  pistols 
from  their  belts.  Then  he  turned  to  Lucy,  and  gave  her  both 
his  hands,  silently.  He  could  not  have  uttered  one  word  of 
thanks  or  love  at  that  moment,  but  his  eyes  were  eloquent,  and 
she  accepted  the  unspoken  offering  of  devotion. 


62  MIDDLE   GROUND. 

Strange  it  was  that  they  two  should  meet  in  the  desert,  and 
that  over  the  bodies  of  his  intended  murderers  he  should  renew 
the  chain  of  hopes  and  fears  and  fond  anticipations  which  had 
seemed,  so  short  a  time  before,  broken  forever ! 

She  had  said  the  lives  of  the  two  ruffians  were  in  his  hands. 
He  knew  it  as  he  stood  and  gazed  upon  them,  lying  as  helpless 
at  his  feet  as  he  had  lain  at  theirs.  There  was  no  reason  small 
or  great  why  he  should  spare  them.  Their  lives  were  forfeit  to 
the  law  a  hundred  times.  When  they  awoke  their  first  move- 
ment would  be  to  take  his  life,  and  Lucy's.  His  brow  grew 
very  black  as  he  regarded  them.  Lucy  watched  and  waited. 

Twice  he  raised  his  pistol  in  his  hand,  and  pointing  it  at  one 
of  the  sleepers,  glanced  along  the  shining  barrel.  Twice  his 
hand  sank  slowly  by  his  side,  and  the  trigger  was  untouched. 
At  last  he  made  his  decision,  and  replaced  the  weapon  in  his 
belt. 

"  We  will  leave  them  to  God  !"  he  said.  "  Let  us  mount  and 
ride,  for  I  cannot  trust  myself  to  look  on  them  again." 

And  they  mounted  and  rode,  taking  the  gamblers'  horses 
with  them.  The  gray,  cold  light  of  early  morning  was  stealing 
out  of  the  East,  and  slowly  driving  back  the  night,  as  they 
turned  their  horses'  heads  towards  the  western  border  of  the 
desert.  The  alkali  dust  rose  in  clouds  about  them  as  they  gal- 
loped through  the  dreary  pla\n,  and  the  desert  lay  before  them 
in  all  its  grim  desolation.  But  not  all  the  feverish  conceptions 
of  celestial  bliss  that  Henry's  brain  had  given  birth  to  under  the 
Shadow  of  Death,  equalled  the  ecstacy  of  that  morning  ride 

across  the  repulsive  alkali  plains  of  the  Forty  Mile  Desert. 
****** 

The  sun  was  high  in  the  heavens  when  Mr.Cobbins  awoke, 
feeling  dizzy  and  queer,  as  though  he  had  been  drinking  hard  on 
the  previous  night.  It  took  him  a  minute  or  two  to  collect  his 
thoughts,  and  remember  where  he  was,  and  what  brought  him 
there.  Having  succeeded  in  this,  he  sat  up  and  looked  around 
for  the  prisoner.  There  was  no  prisoner  there.  Mr.  Cobbins 
sprang  up  and  uttered  a  yell,  which  had  the  effect  of  rousing  his 
partner,  and  in  another  minute  they  were  both  on  their  feet, 
interrogating  each  other  as  to  what  had  happened,  and  cursing 
furiously.  . 


MIDDLE    GROUND.  63 

After  tho  first  feeling  of  amazement  at  Broome's  escape  was 
over,  and  the  consternation  caused  by  the  discovery  that  their 
horses  had  been  taken,  had  somewhat  passed  off,  the  men  began 
to  regard  each  other  with  a  rising  suspicion.  Was  it  possible 
thought  Belto,  that  his  partner  had  played  him  false?  He, 
remembered  now  that  Cobbins  had  prevented  him  from  shoot- 
ing Harry  at  Lucy's  house.  Was  there  a  conspiracy  between 
him  and  the  captive? 

Could  it  be,  thought  Mr.  Cobbins,  that  Belto  had  been  bribed 
by  the  prisoner?  Had  they  made  an  arrangement  together? 
He  recalled  the  affair  at  Kill-me-Quick,  and  it  appeared  to  him 
now  that  Belto  had  not  played  with  his  usual  skill  and  caution 
on  that  occasion.  Was  it  possible  that  his  partner  had  plotted 
to  throw  him  off,  and  go  in  with  the  stranger  ? 

The  result  of  these  cogitations  was  that  the  men  regarded 
each  other  distrustfully,  and  that  from  that  moment  Cobbins 
watched  Belto,  and  Belto  kept  a  vigilant  eye  on  Cobbins.  But 
neither  was  inclined  to  force  the  matter  to  an  open  quarrel  at 
that  time,  the  instinct  of  self-preservation  being  uppermost  for 
the  moment.  So  they  set  out,  grumbling  and  sullen,  to  walk 
back  out  of  the  desert. 

The  sun  was  very  hot,  the  ground  was  very  hot,  the  air  was 
burning,  the  dust  was  stifling.  The  men  were  in  no  condition 
to  make  great  exertions,  for  though  ordinarily  hardy  they  were 
both  weakened  by  incessant  dissipation,  nor  had  they  entirely 
recovered  from  the  shock  of  the  railroad  accident.  Towards 
noon  they  were  compelled  to  rest,  and  endeavored  to  recruit 
their  energies  with  the  remainder  of  the  whisky.  As  they  were 
sitting  moodily,  Belto  happened  to  look  up,  and  behold,  there 
were  the  green  fields  and  the  trees,  and  the  rippling  water  of  a 
running  stream,  within  half  a  mile  of  them.  He  uttered  an  ex- 
clamation of  surprise  and  pleasure,  and  hastily  resumed  his 
journey.  Cobbins  had  seen  the  welcome  objects  by  this  time, 
and  followed  him.  They  walked  and  walked,  until  both  were 
sure  they  must  be  near  the  edge  of  the  desert.  They  examined 
the  horizon,  and  there  was  nothing  to  be  seen  but  burning  sand 
and  dazzling  alkali.  Then  they  knew  that  they  had  been 
deceived  by  the  mirage,  and  their  spirits  fell. 


64  MIDDLE   GROUND. 

As  the  day  wore  on  a  hot  wind  rose,  and  blew  the  sand  about 
in  clouds,  at  times  obscuring  the  view  so  completely  that  they 
were  forced  to  pause.  In  the  distance  they  could  see  tall  col- 
umns of  sand,  caught  up  by  the  whirlwind,  carried  spirally 
sixty  or  a  hundred  feet  into  the  air,  and  then  swept,  in  a  gigantic 
waltz,  across  and  about  the  desert.  At  times  these  moving 
pillars  approached  so  near  as  to  cause  them  serious  alarm,  but 
they  escaped  that  danger,  and  struggled  on  their  way. 

Presently  dark  clouds  began  to  gather  over  the  hills  in  one 
direction.  They  seemed  to  spring  into  existence  out  of  a  pre- 
viously cloudless  sky,  and  to  hurry  up  as  though  urged  by  a 
furious  wind,  or  attracted  by  magnetic  forces.  Blacker  and 
heavier  they  massed  together  over  the  low  hills.  The  wind  sank 
suddenly.  The  sun  poured  down  fiercely.  Then  a  red  flash 
darted  from  the  bosom  of  the  black  cloud-bank,  and  the  thunder 
pealed  over  the  desert.  Great  drops  of  rain,  swept  by  a  cold 
wind  that  came  from  the  hills,  pattered  upon  the  parched 
ground  ;  then  a  heavy  shower,  quick  and  short,  was  dashed  upon 
the  plain.  Then  the  red  lightning  flashed,  and  the  thunder 
rattled  and  crashed,  and  the  rain  fell,  and  the  sun  shone,  all 
together.  In  a  few  minutes  this  strange  storm  was  over,  and 
the  clouds  vanished  as  quickly  and  as  mysteriously  as  they  had 
appeared. 

As  the  partners  grew  more  fatigued  and  disgusted,  they 
naturally  became  more  irritable  and  quarrelsome;  and  as  they 
had  exchanged  very  few  words  since  the  morning,  their  mutual 
suspicions  had  ripened  while  they  brooded.  Moreover  they 
were  hungry,  and  all  the  world  knows  that  hungry  men  are 
angry  men.  Perhaps  the  thunderstorm  had  affected  their  nerv- 
ous systems,  or  the  sun  had  unduly  heated  their  brains  also. 
But  whether  from  any  of  these  causes,  or  all  these  causes  com- 
bined, the  partners  were  both  rapidly  approaching  an  aggres- 
sive condition,  and  it  needed  but  a  slight  spark  to  start  them 
into  a  blaze.  That  spark  was  supplied  by  Mr.  Belto's  demand 
for  the  whisky  bottle,  which  Mr.  Cobbins  carried.  The  latter 
responded  to  the  demand  by  remarking  that  he  wasn't  going  to 
let  Belto  drink  all  the  whisky.  Belto  retorted  by  the  assertion 
that  his  partner  was  always  a  hog  over  his  liquor,  but  that  this 


MIDDLE   GROUND.  65 

belonged  to  him  also,  and  he  proposed  to  have  his  share.  This 
was  a  threat,  and  was  met  by  a  defiance.  Belto  was  thoroughly 
angry  by  this  time,  and  said  something  about  what  he  would 
do  if  the  whisky  was  not  forthcoming.  Cobbins  laughed  in  his 
face,  fiercely  and  tauntingly.  Belto  felt  for  his  pistol,  and  find- 
ing that  it  was  gone,  drew  his  knife.  His  partner's  weapon 
was  out  on  the  instant. 

Then  they  looked  one  another  full  in  the  eyes,  and  began  to 
taunt  each  other  with  treachery.  All  the  suspicions  of  the 
morning  found  vent  in  bitter  accusations,  mingled  with  awful 
throats  and  tremendous  oaths.  They  were  baiting  one  another, 
and  working  themselves  up.  At  length  Cobbins  grew  weary  of 
this,  and  hurled  an  epithet  at  his  partner  which  is  always  ac- 
cepted, among  such  men,  as  an  unpaidonable  insult.  Belto 
rushed  upon  him,  and  the  fight  began. 

The  men  were  well  matched,  for  though  Belto  was  much  the 
heavier,  Cobbins'  proficiency  with  the  knife  made  up  for  the 
difference  in  weight.  Both  were  desperate,  both  were  cool, 
both  were  bent  on  killing.  The  combat  was  not  long,  however, 
for  neither  sought  to  escape  wounds.  Oobbins  was  the  more 
scientific  fighter,  and  after  some  cuts  and  thrusts  had  been  ex- 
changed, he  threw  himself  apparently  open  for  a  moment. 
Hello  seized  the  opportunity,  sprang  forward  with  a  ferocious 
cry — and  fell  with  his  heart  split  in  two  by  his  opponent's 
knife,  but  plunging  his  own  weapon,  as  he  fell,  with  a  last  con- 
vulsive thrust,  deep  into  his  partner's  thigh. 

The  party  from  Shoo  Fly  that  went  in  pursuit  of  the  gam- 
blers, after  Lucy's  return,  found  Belto's  body  lying  alone  on  the 
desert,  but  a  bloody  trail  led  them  fro'm  the  scene  of  the  combat 
to  where,  some  half  a  mile  away,  Cobbins  had  fainted  and  died 
the  wallet  grasped  in  his  stiff  hand,  showing  that  his  last  act  in 
life  had  been  to  plunder  the  corpse  of  his  companion. 


66  MIDDLE   GROUND. 

EPILOGUE. 

A   CHRISTMAS    VISIT. 

Christmas  in  San  Francisco.  The  winds  which  make  Summer 
sojourn  in  the  metropolis  of  the  Golden  State  almost  a  martyr- 
dom, had  died  away.  The  pleasant  Autumn  weather,  so  soft,  so 
bright,  so  genial,  had  become  a  memory.  The  rain  was  pouring 
steadily  down,  and  everything  was  muddy  and  damp  and  un_ 
comfortable.  Not  quite  everything  though.  In  a  parlor  of  one 
of  the  principal  hotels  a  young  couple  were  seated,  conversing 
quietly.  They  were  evidently  man  and  wife,  and  they  had  evi- 
dently assumed  that  relation  toward  each  other  very  recently. 
The  young  husband  was  Harry  Broome.  The  bride  was  Lucy 
Draper. 

They  were  talking  of  the  past. 

"  Did  you  not  care  for  me,"  he  said,  "  before  that  dreadful 
aifair  in  the  desert  ?" 

She  looked  into  his  eyes  fondly  as  she  answered. 

"Not  very  much,  Harry,  I  think.  It  seems  to  me  that  i  fhst 
realized  how  dear  you  were  to  me,  at  the  moment  when  you 
rose  from  between  those  wretches,  and  looked  at  me." 

11  But  I  said  nothing  to  you  on  that  occasion,  did  I  ?"  asked 
Harry,  smiling. 

"  No,  you  said  nothing.  But  you  looked  a  great  deal,"  re- 
joined Lucy. 

A  knock  at  the  door,  a  waiter  with  cards— uMr.  and  Mrs.  John 
gutter." 

Harry  handed  the  cards  to  his  wife  without  speaking.  She 
glanced  at  the  name,  flushed  a  little,  and  turned,  to  find  him 
regarding  her  with  some  anxiety.  Placing  her  hand  in  his,  she 
whispered  softly — 

"  Let  them  come  up,  dear.    There  is  no  danger  now." 

FINIS. 


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